tihvaxf  of  t:he  theological  ^tminavy 

PRINCETON  .  NEW  JERSEY 
FROM  THE  LIBRARY  OF 


ROBERT  ELLIOTT  SPEER 

BV  4315  .H25  1909 

Hall,  Charles  Cuthbert,  185 

-1908. 
The  silver  cup 


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INTO  HIS  MARVELLOUS  LIGHT.  Studies  in  Life 
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DOES  GOD  SEND  TROUBLE?  An  Earnest  Effort 
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Ci^arltjS  Cuti^bert  fall 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

1909 


COPYRIGHT,    1909,   BY  JEANIE   STEWART   HALL 
ALL    RIGHTS    RESERVED 


Published  March  iqoq 


TO  THOSE  WHO  PxEMEMBER 

THE  WRITER  OF  THESE  MESSAGES 

AS  THEHl  CHILDHOOD   FRIEND 


f ntrotiuctorj  i^ote 

**In  hope  of  helping  some  young  hearts  to 
learn  more  of  the  joy  of  worship,  these  simple 
messages,  selected  from  many,  are  printed  as 
they  were  preached.  No  apology  is  made  for 
their  simplicity,  nor  for  the  things  in  them  that 
suggest  the  church  in  which  they  were  spoken. 
The  loving  desire  goes  with  them  that  they  may 
carry,  clearly  enough  for  children  to  understand, 
encouragement  for  those  who  are,  and  for  those 
who  want  to  be,  the  younger  disciples  of  the 
Lord  Jesus." 

Charles  Cuthbert  Hall. 


Contents 


Order  of  Service  (for  one  of  fifty  Special 

Services  for  Children) 

The  Child-Helper  1 

A  Coat  of  Many  Colors  17 

Fear  Not  34 

Messengers  50 

My  True  Child  65 

In  Green  Pastures  80 

Look  Up  95 

Towards  Evening  110 

Seek  125 

The  Message  of  the  Trees                                                139 

A  Command  155 

Easter  Eventide  167 

A  Life  Message  182 

The  Silver  Cup  195 

A  Summer  Message  210 

God  the  Father  224 

The  Son  of  God  241 

The  Holy  Spirit  256 

Onward  271 


Lift  up  your  eyes,  my  children, 

Upon  the  hills  of  God; 
Love  with  your  hearts,  my  children, 
The  mountains  of  the  Lord: 
For  faithfulness  and  justice 

Are  like  their  silent  strength. 
And  breadth  of  thought  comes  from  them, 
And  depth  and  height  and  length. 

Lift  up  your  wills,  my  children. 
The  higher  things  are  yours; 
The  foot-path  and  the  sheep-track, 
And  then  the  open  moors: 

For  on  those  toilsome  uplands 

Are  visions  that  you  love. 
And  they  behold  life's  noblest 
That  seek  the  things  above. 

Lift  up  your  thoughts,  my  children, 

Where  wheeling  curlews  pass. 
And  showers  come  down  to  water 

The  unmown  mountain  grass : 


For  thoughts  have  wings  like  eagles, 
And  tire  not  on  their  way; 

They  rend  the  saddening  mist- veils, 
And  find  the  sun-bright  day. 

Lift  up  your  hopes,  my  children. 

Where  cairns  from  heather  rise; 
The  sky-line  is  your  landmark ; 
Beyond  it  are  the  skies: 

For  hope  is  power  in  climbing. 

And  when  in  evening's  light 

The  long  day's  walk  is  ending, 

Hope  shall  outlive  the  night. 

Oxford,  1902. 


special  ^er\jice 

FOR  CHILDREN  AND  YOUTH 

Organ  Voluntary,  Pastorale,  Foote. 

Hymn  —  We  plough  the  fields. 

Lesson  —  St.  Matthew  vi:  5-21. 

Congregational  Chant  —  The  Magnificat. 

The  Apostles'  Crkbb— (Congregation  and  Choir.) 

Prayer  —  (vnth  the  Lord's  Prayer.) 

Anthem  —  From  Thy  love  as  a  Father.     Gounod. 

•  From  Thy  love  as  a  Father 

O  Lord  teach  us  to  gather 

That  life  will  conquer  death: 
They  who  seek  things  eternal 
Shall  rise  to  light  supernal 

On  wings  of  lowly  faith. 

The  Sermon  —  St.  Matthew  v :  48.   Your  Father 

Which  is  in  Heaven. 
Ascription  —  God  is  a  Spirit.  Bennett. 

God  is  a  Spirit:  and  they  that  worship  Him  must  worship 
Him  in  spirit  and  in  truth.  For  the  Father  seeketh  such 
to  worship  Him. 

Hymn  —  Now  the  light  has  gone  away. 
Prayer  —  (with  the  Benediction  and  the  Seven- 
fold Amen.) 
Organ  Voluntary,      "At  Evening,"         Buck. 


Cfje  C|)tlti#elper 

"Hord,  belp  me" 
St.  Matthew  15  :  25 

I  HAVE  before  my  mind,  at  this  moment,  a  sort 
of  picture,  which  I  should  like  to  try  to  paint  in 
words,  so  that  you  also  may  see  it.  Let  us  call  it 
the  picture  of  the  Child-Helper.  I  see  a  long, 
narrow  valley  lying  between  two  ranges  of  steep 
hills.  It  takes  one  a  whole  day  to  walk  from  one 
end  of  the  valley  to  the  other.  A  stream  runs 
through  the  middle  of  the  valley.  But  besides 
this  middle  stream  there  are  many  side  streams 
which  come  tearing  down  the  hillsides  in  foam  as 
white  as  milk,  and  cut  tracks  across  the  valley 
till  they  join  the  middle  stream  and  add  to  its 
power.  It  has  been  raining  long  and  heavily, 
and  though  the  sun  is  now  shining  again  upon 
the  valley,  all  the  streams  are  swollen  and  wild 
and  noisy. 

At  one  end  of  the  valley  I  see  a  child  coming 
this  way,  walking  alone.  Her  home  is  at  the 
other  end  of  the  valley.  She  is  walking  toward  it. 
She  does  not  know  the  streams  are  swollen.   She 

[  1] 


comes  to  the  first  of  the  side  streams  and  stops. 
The  water  is  black  and  deep,  save  where  the 
milk-white  foam  from  the  hillside  is  whirling 
over  it ;  the  stepping-stones  are  covered ;  there  is 
a  great  hurrying  noise  in  the  air.  She  does  not 
know  what  to  do ;  she  is  frightened  and  begins  to 
cry.  Just  then  she  sees  a  Person  standing  before 
her  on  the  other  side  of  the  swollen  stream,  the 
side  toward  her  home.  He  is  looking  earnestly  at 
her;  and  His  face  is  so  good  and  true,  and  His 
eyes  are  so  full  of  kind  sympathy  that,  instead  of 
being  more  frightened  by  this  stranger,  she  does 
not  fear  Him  at  all.  In  His  hands  He  is  carrying 
a  most  curious  thing.  It  is  a  long,  rough  board, 
with  a  shorter  board  nailed  i  against  it  near 
one  end.  Something  like  this  :  She   looks    at 

the  board,  and  then  at  Him,  |  and  He  seems 
to  know  immediately  what  she  wants :  for  He 
lays  the  board  down  I'ke  a  bridge  from  bank 
to  bank,  and  reaches  cut  His  hand  to  steady 
her  as  she  crosses  over.  Then  He  seems  to  have 
gone  away,  and  she  walks  on,  soon  to  come  to 
another  foaming  stream  as  dangerous  as  the  last. 
And  what  ?  There  He  is  again,  still  on  the  other 
side,  the  side  nearest  home,  still  looking  at  her 
in  that  dear,  kind  way,  still  carrying  the  long, 

[2] 


rough  board,  still  seeming  to  know  just  what 
she  needs.  Again  she  crosses,  His  hand  steadying 
her;  again  He  seems  to  go  away. 

But  when,  coming  to  the  third  stream,  she 
finds  Him  standing  as  before,  she  speaks  to  Him : 
**Who  are  you.?"  And  He  answers:  '*I  am  the 
Child-Helper."  —  *'Why  do  you  go  away  every 
time.?" — *'I  do  not  go  away:  I  have  been  by 
your  side  through  all  the  valley,  though  you  did 
not  know  it,  and  every  time  I  have  seen  that  you 
were  coming  to  one  of  these  swollen  side  streams, 
I  have  just  stepped  ahead  of  you  so  you  could 
see  me,  that  I  was  ready  to  help  you."  —  "And 
what  is  that  board  which  you  carry.?"  —  "On 
that  board,  dear  child,  I  once  crossed  over  a 
deep,  swollen  river  of  suffering,  and  on  that 
board  I  learned  how  hard  it  is  for  every  one  to 
cross  these  rivers,  especially  children;  and  so  I 
always  carry  this  board,  because,  by  it,  I  can 
show  them  that  I  understand  why  they  are 
frightened,  and  what  they  need,  and  that  I  can 
truly  help  them.  I  am  the  Child-Helper,  and  this 
board  is  my  cross,  a  sign  that  I  know  every 
trouble,  and  that  I  can  help  every  one." 

This  is  the  picture  that  I  have  before  my  mind. 
I  have  tried  to  paint  the  picture  in  words.    I 

[3] 


think  you  all  understand  its  meaning ;  but  you  will 
understand  it  better  when  our  sermon  is  through. 
If  you  were  now  really  to  see  the  Child-Helper 
standing  before  you,  what  would  be  the  most 
natural  thing  to  say  to  Him?  Just  this :  *'Lord, 
help  me."  That,  you  see,  is  our  text.  Now  it  is 
perfectly  true  that  in  the  story  in  St.  Matthew's 
gospel  where  we  find  this  text,  it  is  not  a  child 
who  says,  "  Lord,  help  me."  But  it  is  a  mother 
who  brings  her  sick  child  to  Christ;  and  she 
wants  Christ  to  help  that  child,  who  is  having  a 
terribly  hard  time.  And  the  most  beautiful  thing 
is  that  when  the  mother  says  to  Christ,  ''Lord, 
help  me,"  she  means, "  Lord,  help  my  dear  child." 
Her  child  is  to  her  just  the  same  as  herself ;  and 
if  Christ  can  only  make  that  child  well,  she  will 
be  more  glad  than  if  He  did  something  directly 
for  herself.  She  loves  the  child  better  than  she 
loves  herself.  And  I  believe  many  of  you  have 
mothers  who  love  you  better  than  they  love 
themselves ;  who  would  gladly  be  sick  and  suffer 
any  amount  of  pain  and  trouble,  to  save  you 
from  pain  and  trouble ;  who  are  more  glad  when 
any  good  and  precious  thing  comes  into  your 
life  than  if  it  came  into  their  own;  who  cannot 
be  happy  unless  you  are  happy. 

[4] 


Think  what  love  that  is !  Do  you  realize  it  ?  If 
Christ  were  to  come  into  this  church  this  after- 
noon, so  that  we  could  see  Him,  and  if  He  were  to 
say,  "I  want  to  help  somebody  in  each  family,"  I 
do  not  believe  there  is  one  mother  here  who  would 
not  immediately  say,  '*I  would  rather  have  you 
give  what  you  are  going  to  give  to  my  child  than 
give  it  to  me.  Please  be  a  Child-Helper,  and  do 
not  think  of  me."  And  I  venture  to  believe,  if 
Christ  were  to  help  only  some  in  each  family.  He 
would  choose  the  children  and  youth  first,  for 
He  is  their  special  Friend. 

What  I  want  to  do,  if  I  can,  in  speaking  of 
Christ  the  Child-Helper,  is  to  show,  in  a  way  that 
every  child  can  understand,  how  Christ  loves  to 
have  you  ask  Him  to  help  you  in  everything,  and 
how  you  reaHy  do  need  His  help  in  everything. 
And  the  easiest  way  to  explain  these  thoughts  is 
to  take  this  wonderful  little  text  of  ours  apart, 
like  a  flower,  and  lay  it  down  in  front  of  us  in 
three  pieces,  and  then  take  up  each  piece  and 
look  at  it  separately.  One  of  the  best  ways  to 
understand  a  thing  thoroughly  is  to  take  it  apart 
and  look  at  it  in  pieces.  I  suppose  many  of  you 
have  learned  how  to  take  flowers  apart  and  study 
them  in  pieces ;  at  least,  I  hope  you  have  done  so 

[5] 


Ci^e  filter  Cup 

or  will  do  so,  for  botany  (the  study  of  flowers  and 
plants)  is  a  most  beautiful  and  helpful  study. 
You  pick  a  flower  in  the  field  or  forest  or  garden, 
and  set  yourself  to  understand  it  by  taking  it 
apart.  You  lift  off  first  the  green  calyx,  and  then 
the  brilliant  whorl  of  the  corolla;  then  you  take 
a  stamen  and  find  that  that  divides  in  two  parts, 
a  filament  and  an  anther,  and  then  you  come  to  a 
pistil,  and  that  divides  in  three  parts,  a  stigma, 
a  style,  and  an  ovary.  By  that  time  you  have 
laid  this  w^ondrous  flower  all  out  before  you  in  its 
separate  parts,  and  you  begin  to  feel  acquainted 
with  it  and  to  have  some  idea  of  the  superb  work- 
manship by  which  it  is  made.  This  is  what  we 
will  do  with  our  little  text.  We  will  take  it  apart. 
But  we  can  do  more  with  the  text  than  with  the 
flower.  You  never  can  put  your  flower  together 
again.  But  we  can  put  our  text  together  again, 
and  it  will  live  and  bloom,  fragrant  forever,  an 
immortal  flower  of  prayer  in  the  garden  of  our 
hearts. 

This  text  has  three  words,  and  we  will  take  it 
apart  in  three  pieces,  a  word  in  each  piece: 
Lord  — Help  — Me. 

We  will  take,  first,  the  first  word,  "Lord,"  and 
that  will  tell  us  what  Christ  is  like.    Then  the 

[6] 


last  word,  *'Me,"  and  that  will  tell  us  what  we 
are  like.  Then  the  middle  word,  "Help,"  and 
that  will  tell  us  what  we  need  to  have  Christ  do 
for  us  all  the  time. 

We  pick  off  the  first  leaf  from  the  flower,  — 
the  first  word,  "Lord."  It  is  another  name  for 
Jesus  Christ.  Now  I  want  to  say  something  to 
you  very  earnestly :  I  want  each  of  you  to  feel  as 
if  we  were  talking  now  with  one  another,  and  no 
one  else  around.  Many  people  are  saying  to  you  : 
"You  must  love  Christ  and  you  must  trust  Him." 
That  is  all  very  true.  But  you  simply  cannot 
really  love  and  trust  Christ  till  you  know  what 
He  is  like. 

I  will  not  try  in  my  own  words  to  tell  you  what 
Christ  is  like,  for  there  are  other  words  far  better, 
which  tell  us  this.  Here  are  His  own  words :  "I 
am  meek  and  lowly  in  heart."  That  means,  there 
is  nothing  in  Christ  which  makes  it  impossible 
for  you  to  bring  your  lives,  your  hopes,  your 
cares  to  Him.  He  cares  about  all  these  things. 
They  are  not  small  things  to  Him.  There  is  no 
pride,  no  cold,  haughty  feeling  in  Christ  which 
would  freeze  you  up  into  silence  if  you  came  into 
His  visible  presence.  Perhaps  you  know  some 
people  whose  manner  seems  to  freeze  you  up  into 

[7] 


silence.  You  feel  that  they  have  no  sympathy 
with  you,  that  they  are  grown  up  and  wrapped 
up  in  their  own  matters,  and  if  they  look  at  you 
at  all  they  think  that  you  are  only  children  who 
amount  to  nothing.  But  if  you  are  right  about 
some  people  (and  I  do  not  say  whether  you  are 
or  not),  I  wonder  if  you  have  any  idea  how  much 
some  of  us  grown  people  think  about  your  lives, 
and  how  intensely  we  are  in  sympathy  with  you. 
I  wonder  as  you  pass  us  in  the  street,  you  per- 
haps running  and  laughing,  we  walking  soberly, 
if  you  have  the  least  idea  how  much  we  care  for 
the  things  that  interest  you,  —  what  you  do,  what 
you  like,  what  troubles  you,  what  brings  the 
tears  to  your  eyes,  what  keeps  you  lying  awake 
thinking  at  night  sometimes.  There's  no  differ- 
ence between  our  care  for  the  things  of  grown 
people  and  our  care  for  the  things  of  children, 
unless  perhaps  that  your  things  are  to  some  of  us 
more  important  than  the  others.  And  what  I 
want  to  get  at  is  this :  if  you  can  believe  that  we 
care,  how  much  more  sure  you  may  be  that 
Christ  cares.  He  who  is  meek  and  lowly  in  heart 
cares  for  everything  that  happens  to  you. 

And  here  is  another  sweet  word  which  tells  us 
what  He  is  like:  "The  Lord  is  very  pitiful."  You 

[8] 


know  not  only  that  your  mother  cares,  but  how 
she  cares,  for  all  that  happens  to  you.  If  you 
have  a  terrible  headache  and  cannot  do  your 
work  in  school,  and  come  home  weary  and  dis- 
couraged, you  know  who  can  help  to  set  things 
right  as  no  one  else  can;  who  puts  her  arms 
around  you,  and  gives  you  a  kiss,  and  makes  you 
lie  down  and  let  her  talk  quietly  to  you  till  you 
fall  asleep.  Oh!  your  mother  is  very  pitiful! 
And  Christ  has  said:  *'As  one  whom  his  mother 
comforteth,  so  will  I  comfort  you."  And  there  is 
nothing  which  troubles  you,  or  interests  you,  that 
you  cannot  bring  to  Him.  If  you  feel  sick,  if 
your  studies  trouble  you,  if  you  seem  to  find  it 
hard  to  make  any  one  believe  that  you  are  trying 
to  do  right,  if  you  find  strange  feelings  of  sadness 
sweeping  over  your  soul,  you  can  just  go  to  Him, 
and  as  it  were  rest  your  weary  head  and  heart  on 
Him,  praying,  "Lord,  help  me." 

And  there  is  another  sweet  word  which  tells 
us  what  Christ  is  like :  "He  can  have  compassion 
on  the  ignorant."  Did  some  one  say  to  you 
sharply  the  other  day,  "You  ought  to  have 
known  better!  at  your  age,  you  ought  to  have 
known  better  than  to  do  that"?  Well,  perhaps 
you  ought,  though  I,  for  one,  cannot  believe 

[9] 


you  looked  ahead  and  saw  all  the  trouble  that 
would  come  of  doing  it.  But  do  you  feel  ashamed 
and  discouraged  now,  as  though  every  one  were 
pointing  at  you  and  saying,  "You  ought  to  have 
known  better"  ?  Now,  I  tell  you,  there  is  one  to 
whom  you  can  go.  One  who  can  have  compas- 
sion on  the  children  that  perhaps  "ought  to  have 
known  better,"  but  did  not.  You  can  trust  Him. 
He  will  understand  you ;  He  will  forgive  you ;  He 
will  teach  you  to  know  better.  Is  there  one  among 
you  who  has  secretly  and  ignorantly  gotten  into 
trouble,  led  on  in  boyish  carelessness  to  form 
some  habit  or  do  some  evil  which  he  did  not 
know  at  the  time  was  so  wrong  and  dangerous  ? 
Now,  whoever  misunderstands  you  and  blames 
you  and  refuses  to  pity  you  on  earth,  you  have 
a  friend  "who  can  have  compassion  on  the 
ignorant,  and  on  them  that  are  out  of  the  way." 
He  will  understand  you,  though  nobody  else 
should;  whatever  you  have  done.  He  will  not 
despise  you.  Pour  it  all  out  to  Him;  trust  Him 
with  it.    Pray,  "Lord,  help  me!" 

I  think,  now,  we  have  seen  what    Christ  is 

like,  and  we  will  therefore  go  on  and  pick  another 

leaf  off  our  flower.   We  will  take  the  last  word  in 

the  text,  "Me."   Lord,  help  me.   This  word  will 

E  10] 


show  you  what  you  are  like.  I  do  not  claim  to 
know  very  much  about  children,  but  I  think  I 
know  something  of  what  they  are  like,  and  I 
would  like  to  venture  to  tell  you  three  things 
that  I  believe  you  find  in  yourselves,  and  I  wish 
you  would  answer  "Yes"  or  **No"  —  not  aloud, 
but  silently — as  I  mention  each  thing.  Unless  I 
am  very  much  mistaken  you  find  in  yourself  a 
Great  Struggle.  You  are  just  like  two  persons 
instead  of  one  person,  some  days.  You  seem  to 
have  two  lives,  and  those  lives  are  fighting  each 
other.  One  is  right,  the  other  is  wrong,  and  both 
are  strong.  Some  days  the  first  is  stronger  than 
the  second,  and  all  goes  well;  other  days  the 
second  is  stronger  than  the  first,  and  you  have  a 
dreadful  time.  And  the  strangest  thing  is,  you 
know  right  is  right  and  wrong  is  wrong,  and  yet 
when  you  are  in  certain  moods  you  do  wrong 
in  spite  of  the  desire  to  do  right.  Sometimes 
when  you  know  the  mild,  obedient  word  ought 
to  be  spoken,  the  hateful,  hasty  word  leaps  out 
instead ;  and  then  when  you  know  that  hateful 
word  ought  to  be  taken  back  with  sorrow,  a 
wicked,  obstinate  spirit  seems  to  stand  at  the 
entrance  of  your  life  and  keep  good  from  coming 
out.    And   other   days   there  seems   a  glorious 

[  11] 


strength  given  to  the  spirit  of  right  within  you, 
and  you  can  be  good  and  gentle,  and  hold  all  the 
wrong  in  check.  What  a  strange  being  you  are, 
with  those  two  lives  living  in  your  one  life  — 
those  two  powers  struggling,  struggling,  strug- 
gling, day  after  day. 

The  second  thing  I  think  you  find  in  yourself 
is  Great  Discouragement.  My  own  impression  is 
that  there  is  not  a  child  or  youth  here  over  six 
years  old  who  does  not  know  what  it  is  to  be 
greatly  discouraged  and  very  sad  sometimes.  (I 
am  quite  sure  that  they  know  it  earlier  than  that 
in  some  ways.)  You  may  have  the  most  lovely 
home  and  everything  you  need,  but  there  do 
come  the  great  discouragements.  There  are 
causes  which  will  easily  explain  the  discourage- 
ments which  some  of  you  feel.  It  is  enough 
explanation  of  the  sad  times  of  some  here,  that  I 
know  they  have  no  mother,  and  some  have  neither 
father  nor  mother.  Nothing  need  be  said  to  ex- 
plain that.  And  some  are  not  physically  strong, 
and  have  to  bear  pain  and  weariness  and  ner- 
vousness such  as  many  grown  persons  never 
know.  But  the  discouragements  of  many  of  you 
come  from  other  causes.  You  try  to  be  good,  and 
you  fail ;  you  try  to  be  kind,  and  are  misunder- 
[  12] 


stood;  you  make  strong  friendships,  and  some- 
thing comes  in  to  break  them  or  wear  them  out. 
And  then  beside  all  these  causes,  no  one  knows  as 
well  as  children  and  youths  know,  that  sort  of 
vague  discouragement  and  sadness  which  does 
not  seem  to  come  from  any  cause  in  particular, 
but  just  settles  down  like  a  cloud  on  the  spirit; 
and  the  eyes  fill  with  tears,  and  the  young  heart 
goes  off  alone,  and  feels  that  it  does  know  its  own 
bitterness. 

And  the  third  thing  I  think  you  find  in  your- 
self is  this :  Great  Happiness,  No  one  knows 
how  to  be  happy  as  you  know.  You  have  the 
secret.  If  you  could  teach  it  to  the  old  hearts 
you  might  have  all  the  scholars  you  want.  I  love 
to  see  you  in  your  happiest  hours ;  when  the  sun 
seems  shining  specially  for  you;  when  you  are 
so  happy  you  hardly  know  what  to  do  first. 
Perfect  happiness  is  the  fine  art  of  childhood: 
a  light  on  earth  brighter  than  the  sun.  A  won- 
drous help  to  older  lives.  It  makes  me  a  braver 
and  a  better  man  to  see  it.  I  pray  there  may 
never  come  to  me  a  day  in  life  of  such  selfish  care 
that  the  sight  of  happy  children  will  not  make  me 
lift  my  heart  to  God  in  praise.  And  often  when 
you  are  so  very  happy  such  wonderful  hopes  and 

[  13] 


ideas  come  to  you.  You  seem  to  be  lifted  up  so 
you  can  see  the  future  lying  like  a  great  land- 
scape in  sunlight,  and  you  can  imagine  what  it 
would  be  to  lead  a  grand,  noble  life,  doing  good 
everywhere,  thinking  only  high  thoughts  and  no 
low  ones. 

Now,  if  I  am  right  in  thinking  that  these  three 
things  are  in  you,  a  great  struggle,  great  dis- 
couragements, and  great  happiness,  then  I  want 
to  bring  this  sermon  to  an  end  by  picking  off  the 
last  leaf  of  our  flower,  taking  the  only  word  that 
is  left  in  our  text,  "Help."  That  is  what  you  ask 
Christ  to  do  for  you.  How  do  you  want  Christ 
to  help  you  ?  You  want  Him  to  help  you  to  get 
away  from  the  power  of  sin,  and  you  want  Him 
to  help  you  to  be  what  you  ought  to  be.  Sin 
wants  to  follow  us  and  to  overcome  us ;  it  wants 
to  have  our  life  and  swallow  it  up.  The  great 
steamer  Oregon  went  down  off  the  coast  of  Long 
Island.  It  met  with  an  accident,  and  then  the 
hungry  sea  just  swallowed  it  up.  But  some  of  the 
life-boats  of  the  Oregon  were  saved  and  brought 
to  New  York,  and  one  of  these  boats,  a  large  and 
beautiful  one,  was  put  on  the  deck  of  the  Um- 
bria,  and  sent  out  on  her,  to  be  used  in  case  of 
danger.  And  the  very  first  time  the  Umbria  went 
[  14] 


out  with  that  boat  from  the  Oregon  on  her  deck, 
a  great  wave  of  the  hungry  sea  broke  over  the 
deck,  and,  passing  by  all  the  Umbria's  boats, 
took  that  one  poor  Oregon  boat,  tore  it  from  its 
fastenings,  swept  it  off,  and  swallowed  it  up 
forever.  And  that  is  the  way  sin  wants  to  pur- 
sue, and  if  it  gains  the  victory  once,  it  grows  only 
more  hungry  and  wants  to  follow  us  and  take 
something  more  away  —  take  more  of  our 
strength,  more  of  our  happiness  —  till  it  takes 
all.  From  such  a  power,  none  but  Christ  can 
defend  you.  In  such  danger  none  but  He  can 
help  you  to  ride  safely  the  hungry  waves  of  this 
sinful  world. 

And  last  of  all,  you  want  Him  to  help  you  to 
be  what  you  ought  to  be.  You  have  bright  hopes 
for  noble  lives;  you  want  to  stand  high.  Some 
of  you  are  looking  far  beyond,  on  and  up  to  the 
heights  you  hope  to  reach.  Let  your  prayer  be, 
*'  Lord,  help  me  to  find  the  way  to  those  heights." 

Once  I  was  on  an  island  called  Arran,  off  the 
west  coast  of  Scotland.  I  was  walking  in  a  deep 
glen  called  *'Glen  Rosa."  By  my  side  rose  a 
tremendous  precipice,  straight  up,  up,  up,  hun- 
dreds and  hundreds  of  feet ;  no  human  foot  could 
climb  it  save  in  deadly  peril.    The  top  of  the 

[  15] 


m^t  fitter  Cup 

precipice  was  the  peak  called  Goatfell.  As  I 
looked,  two  eagles  came  out  and  wheeled  around 
the  peak  in  grand  circles.  And  I  thought,  "How 
I  should  like  to  stand  where  the  eagles  rest  and 
spread  their  wings  toward  heaven;  but  no  man 
could  climb  this  rock."  But  the  next  day  my 
friend  took  me  to  a  path  on  the  other  side  that 
went  winding  to  the  top,  and  by  the  help  of  that 
guidance  I  did  stand  where  the  eagles  rest  and 
spread  their  wings  toward  heaven.  And  so  may 
you  reach  peaks  that  to-day  look  far  beyond 
you;  so  may  you  gain  power  which  to-day  you 
only  long  to  gain;  so  may  you,  daily  asking 
Christ's  help  to  find  this  way  and  keep  the  path, 
climb  from  height  to  height,  till  you  shall  stand 
where  the  eagles  rest,  and  still  spread  your 
wings  toward  heaven.    Amen. 


^  Coat  of  Jttanp  Colors 

Genesis  37  : 3 

I  HAVE  often  wished  that  I  might  have  seen 
that  coat.  It  must  have  been  a  beautiful  and 
princely  thing  for  the  beautiful  and  princely  child 
who  wore  it.  To  be  sure,  at  the  time  we  now 
speak  of,  he  was  seventeen  years  old,  but  to  his 
father  he  seemed  still  a  young  boy,  and,  after  all, 
seventeen,  with  some  boys,  is  not  very  old.  Yes, 
I  would  like  to  have  seen  that  boy  wearing  his 
beautiful  coat.  I  like  to  look  at  children's  coats, 
and  to  associate  them  with  the  children  who 
wear  them.  Sometimes  children's  coats  seem  to 
look  so  like  the  children  themselves,  they  almost 
seem  a  part  of  them,  —  they  seem  to  express 
something  of  the  beauty,  or  gentleness,  or  sim- 
plicity, or  neatness  of  the  child;  and  though  I 
were  to  see  the  coat  without  the  child,  my  imagi- 
nation would  make  me  put  the  child  back  into 
the  coat. 

Although  I  never  saw  the  coat  of  Joseph,  the 
beautiful  coat  that  his  father  gave  him,  I  know 
pretty  well  what  it  was  like.  It  was  not  like  any 

[  17] 


Ci^e  filter  Cup 

coat  children  or  youths  wear  now,  for  Joseph 
lived,  not  only  long  ago,  but  in  a  far-away  coun- 
try of  the  East  where  men  or  boys  dress  quite 
differently  from  the  way  we  dress.  The  difference 
was  both  in  shape  of  garments  and  in  color. 
Instead  of  wearing  the  tightly  fitting  coats  which 
we  know  about,  they  wore  loose  flowing  robes, 
more  like  this  robe  which  I  now  wear  when 
ministering  in  God's  house.  The  difference  was 
in  color,  too.  Men  and  boys  now  usually  wear 
coats  of  very  quiet  colors,  and  each  coat  is  usually 
of  one  or  two  colors  only.  But  then  they  wore 
not  only  the  flowing  robes  instead  of  tight  coats, 
but  made  those  robes  of  the  most  magnificent 
colors,  and  where  people  were  very  rich,  as  was 
the  case  with  Joseph's  father,  the  robe  was  made 
up  of  pieces  of  various  rich  colors,  and  these 
pieces  were  delicately  and  splendidly  embroid- 
ered together,  perhaps  with  golden  threads,  and 
wrought  over  with  magnificent  needlework,  so 
that  they  were  altogether  more  beautiful  than 
any  coat  we  have  ever  seen  worn  by  a  man. 

This  "coat  of  many  colors,"   this  beautiful 

flowing  robe  made  of  pieces  of  rich  and  various 

colors  embroidered  together,  Jacob,  the  loving 

father,  gave  to  his  dearly  loved  child  Joseph ;  and 

[  18] 


a  Coat  of  jwant  Colore 

if  you  stop  a  moment  to  think  of  that,  the  father 
giving  the  child  a  princely  coat  of  many  colors, 
you  will  see  that  although  it  was  so  long  ago,  and 
things  were  so  very  different,  there  was  much  in 
that  gift,  just  the  same  as  there  would  be  to-day, 
if  your  father  or  mother  were  to  come  to  you,  a 
girl,  with  the  most  beautiful  dress  that  could  be 
made,  or  to  you,  a  boy,  with  some  sort  of  coat 
that  you  had  wished  for,  and  say,  ''Dear  child,  I 
want  you  to  wear  this  for  me,  and  whenever  you 
wear  it,  just  to  remember  the  giver."  That  was 
what  this  father  did.  He  loved  dearly,  wonderfully ; 
and  whenever  one  person  loves  another  that  way, 
he  wants  to  give  something.  It  is  as  natural  for 
love  to  want  to  give  as  for  a  bird  to  want  to  fly. 
And  that  is  not  all.  One  wants  to  give  something 
that  the  other  person  can  carry  about  with  him, 
or  wear,  as  if  he  is  carrying  about  the  giver 
everywhere  he  goes.  That  was  why  Jacob  gave 
Joseph  a  coat.  Joseph  had  plenty  of  coats,  but 
his  father  wanted  him  to  have  this  special  one 
to  wear  sometimes  in  memory  of  him.  And  that 
is  not  all.  One  wants  to  give  something  beauti- 
ful, and  there  is  something,  both  in  God  and  in 
man,  that  says  that  colors  are  beautiful.  Colors 
mean  beautiful  things ;  they  belong  to  the  idea  of 

[  19] 


beauty,  and  love  naturally  feels  that  it  can  speak 
only  through  what  is  beautiful.  So  the  father 
gave  the  boy  something  to  carry  around  with  him 
in  memory  of  the  giver,  and  the  most  beautiful 
thing  he  could  give  was  a  robe  that  should  be 
one  great  blending  of  glorious  colors.  Thus  a 
father's  love  speaks  through  the  beauty  and  the 
meaning  of  colors. 

I  want  to  speak  to  you  of  a  Father  who  has 
given  to  each  of  you  his  children  "a  coat  of  many 
colors."  Who  is  the  Father.?  *'It  is  He,  the 
Father  of  Lights,  from  whom  cometh  every  good 
and  perfect  gift."  What  is  the  coat  of  many 
colors  ?  It  is  Life.  Life,  the  Father's  gift  to  the 
dear  child.  Life,  the  beautiful  coat  of  many 
rich  colors  blended  together,  to  be  worn  every 
day  and  everywhere  by  the  child,  in  remem- 
brance of  the  Giver.  Get  well  into  your  minds, 
first  of  all,  the  thought  that  Life  is  the  Father's 
gift,  something  full  of  beauty  and  meaning 
which  He  has  put  on  you  His  child,  to  wear  in 
remembrance  of  Him.  This  is  not  a  hard  thought 
to  get  hold  of,  for  I  know  children  too  well  not 
to  be  sure  that  they  know  how  to  appreciate 
what  is  given  to  them,  and  to  remember  lovingly 
the  Giver.  Gifts !  Why,  how  many  gifts  you  can 
[  20  ] 


a  Coat  of  pLanv  Colorjs 

think  of  now  which  you  enjoy  and  value;  and 
some  of  them,  I  do  not  doubt,  you  carry  around 
with  you  in  memory  of  the  giver.  If  any  one  has 
had  a  birthday  lately,  they  know  pretty  well 
about  gifts,  and  none  of  us  are  so  far  off  from 
Christmas  as  to  have  forgotten.  Has  no  dear  friend 
given  you  lately  something  that  you  are  carrying 
about  with  you  now  ?  —  perhaps  a  ring,  perhaps 
a  watch  ?  I  know  you  understand  all  about  gifts 
and  givers,  and  so  it  will  not  be  strange  to  you 
to  think  of  God  our  Father  as  a  Giver,  and  of 
Life  as  that  beautiful  gift,  that  coat  of  many 
colors  which  He  has  given  you  to  wear,  to  carry 
about  with  you  wherever  you  are,  in  remem- 
brance of  Him. 

To  think  of  Life  this  way  will  do  you  a  great 
deal  of  good ;  for  there  is  another  way  of  thinking 
of  Life  which  does  us  a  great  deal  of  harm !  That 
is,  to  think  of  Life  as  something  that  always 
belonged  to  us  and  that  somehow  we  got  for 
ourselves,  and  to  feel  that  we  can  do  just  about 
what  we  like  with  Life.  Just  as  when  a  boy  is  out 
walking  in  the  woods,  he  cuts  a  stick  from  a  bush 
and  feels  that  he  can  do  anything  he  likes  with 
it,  for  he  got  it  for  himself.  He  can  cut  it  up  one 
way  or  another;  he  can  break  it  on  a  stone;  he 

[21  ] 


can  keep  it  or  he  can  throw  it  away.  But  you 
would  feel  very  differently  if  some  one  who  loved 
you  brought  you  a  beautifully  carved  walking 
stick  from  the  Holy  Land,  and  asked  you  to 
carry  it  in  memory  of  him.  You  would  feel  that 
that  had  not  always  belonged  to  you,  that  it  had 
come  to  you  only  because  this  person  loved  you, 
that  it  was  in  itself  beautiful,  and  a  rare  treasure, 
and  that  you  would  like  to  keep  it  always  as 
beautiful  as  when  it  was  given  you.  Now  you 
know  Life  did  not  always  belong  to  you,  and  you 
did  not  get  it  somehow  for  yourself.  It  was  given 
you  by  the  Father  on  High,  in  whose  eyes  you 
are  a  dear  child,  and  He  has  given  you  Life  be- 
cause He  loves  you  so  tenderly,  and  has  wanted 
to  give  you  something  beautiful.  And  the  most 
beautiful  thing  —  I  say  it,  I  believe  it  —  and  the 
most  beautiful  thing  the  Father  could  give  you  is 
this  coat  of  many  colors  —  Life  —  which  is,  for 
you,  so  full  of  the  beauty  and  the  glory  of  color. 
I  said  a  moment  ago  that  there  is  something 
in  man  and  in  God  which  says  that  colors  are 
beautiful.  The  love  of  color,  the  delight  that 
comes  from  richly  blended  colors,  is  a  feeling  that 
we  all  have,  more  or  less,  and  that  God  our 
Blessed  Father  on  High  has,  more  than  any  of  us. 
[  22  ] 


31  Coat  of  jEant  Colore 

We  are  sure  that  we  love  colors.  Certainly  I  am 
sure  that  I  delight  in  them.  There  are  certain 
harmonies  in  music  which  always  seem  to  me 
like  rich  colors,  and  there  are  certain  blends  of 
rich  color  which  always  seem  to  me  like  splendid 
harmonies  of  music.  Color  is,  to  me,  a  sort  of 
language  through  which  certain  things  are  said 
which  there  is  no  other  way  to  say.  There  is  a 
certain  look  in  the  sky  some  days ;  there  are  cer- 
tain tones  which  appear  on  heavy  masses  of 
leafy  trees  standing  darkly  in  afternoon  light; 
there  are  certain  high  yellows  brought  out  by 
spring  sunshine  on  early  leaves ;  there  are  certain 
blends  of  blue  and  bronze  appearing  after  sunset 
on  a  still  sea,  —  all  of  which  say  something  glori- 
ous to  me  that  I  have  never  yet  heard  in  the  words 
of  any  spoken  language.  Yes  !  I  am  quite  certain 
that  I  delight  in  colors. 

And  there  is  not  the  least  doubt  that  almost 
all  human  beings  love  colors.  Wherever  men 
have  done  their  best  work,  they  have  worked  out 
richly  into  colors.  Take,  for  example,  such  things 
as  the  colors  of  silks.  I  know  a  place  in  London 
where  specimens  are  kept  of  all  the  silks  made 
in  India ;  and  it  is  something  too  beautiful  to  de- 
scribe to  see  the  walls  of  that  place  all  hung  with 

[  23  ] 


C]^e  ^ilUv  Cup 

drifts  of  these  marvelous  progressions  of  color, 
like  a  silken  palace  painted  with  dissolving  rain- 
bows. Or  take  the  colors  of  pictures.  They  tell 
you  how  to  the  mind  of  man,  when  filled  with 
the  great  power-gifts  of  God,  there  has  always 
been  an  immense  meaning  and  music  in  colors. 
Or  take  the  colors  of  glass  in  the  great  painted 
windows  of  the  world's  great  churches.  Such  a 
glorious  mission  have  colors  there!  Man  has 
taken  the  blue  of  the  sky,  the  crimson  of  blood, 
the  lustre  of  gold,  the  green  of  the  sea,  has  clothed 
with  them  the  figures  of  Apostles  and  Prophets, 
has  lifted  them  up  in  the  high  walls  of  churches, 
between  the  eyes  of  man  and  the  noonday  sun- 
light of  God;  and  God  has  lighted  up  human 
colors,  and  has  poured  His  glory  through  them 
on  the  lives  of  men,  even  as  He  has  poured  upon 
women  and  children  the  eternal  sunlight  of 
Promise  through  the  crimson  of  the  Blood  of  an 
Uplifted  Christ. 

But  God,  our  Father,  has  not  only  given  to  us 
our  love  of  colors.  He  has  shown  us  in  many 
grand  and  tender  ways  that  the  same  feelings  are 
in  Himself  as  the  Maker  and  Giver  of  that  most 
wondrous  coat  of  many  colors  —  the  world  it- 
self!  You  have  only  to  think  of  what  the  world 
[24] 


a  Coat  of  pLani^  Colore 

would  be  like  without  its  glorious  colors,  to  see 
how  God  must  love  them  and  delight  in  them 
Himself.  You  have  only  to  imagine  everything 
about  us  — trees,  fields,  clouds,  skies,  mountains, 
birds,  flowers — fading  into  one  pale,  lifeless  tint, 

—  the  roses  fading  on  their  stems,  the  rainbow 
fading  into  a  mere  dull  mark  on  a  dull  sky,  — 
only  to  imagine  this  and  you  will  see  how  God 
loves  color  for  our  sakes  that  He  may  speak  to  us 
in  it,  and  for  His  own  sake  that  He  may  find  in  it 
the  joy  of  a  Creator.  For  He  has  made  all  nature, 
not  only  in  places  where  we  see  it,  but  in  places 
where  the  eye  of  man  almost  never  looks  upon  it, 

—  a  coat  of  many  colors.  In  dark  and  lonely 
caverns  on  the  seacoast  where  only  men  can  go 
who  risk  their  lives,  or  in  deep  sea  valleys  dis- 
turbed only  by  the  fisherman's  dredge,  God  has 
given  to  small  and  strange  creatures  colors  more 
splendid  than  the  robes  of  kings.  Have  you  read 
Charles  Kingsley's  "Glaucus".?  For  in  that 
there  is  some  word  color  painting  worth  your 
reading.  He  tells  us  of  the  colors  of  starfishes ;  of 
the  *' twelve-rayed  sun-star  with  his  rich  scarlet 
armor";  of  *'the  bird's-foot  star  of  scarlet  and 
orange"  ;  of  the  great  '* purple  Spatangus  clothed 
in  pale  lilac  horny  spines" ;  of  "  the  brittle  stars," 

[  25  ] 


Ci^e  ^flber  Cup 

innumerable  in  quantity  and  colored  **  purple 
and  azure,  fawn,  brown,  green,  gray,  white,  and 
crimson"  like  "a  bed  of  china  asters."  And  there 
are  God's  colors  in  the  depths  of  the  sea  —  colors 
that  He  has  hid  for  His  own  joy.  Yet  think, 
besides,  qf  the  colors  He  has  given  us  —  in  the 
autumn  leaves  of  trees  and  vines,  in  the  mystery 
of  flowers,  in  the  great  many-hued  mantle  of  the 
sea,  in  the  whole  realm  of  the  world.  I  feel  God's 
love  of  color  in  all  I  touch;  and  I  see  it  in  all 
beauty  on  earth  of  things  small  and  great :  — 

And  over  me  unrolls  on  high 
The  splendid  scenery  of  the  Sky, 
Where  through  a  sapphire  sea,  the  sun 
Sails  like  a  golden  galleon. 

And  it  seems  to  me  to-day  as  if  Christ  the  Great 
Teacher  were  standing  here  in  our  midst,  among 
all  these  dear  young  lives,  and  saying :  See  how 
beautiful  the  world  is  with  things  that  have  soon 
to  pass  away  and  die ;  look  at  the  colors  of  the 
starfishes ;  look  at  the  colors  of  the  roses  and  all 
the  flowers  that  have  so  short  a  time  to  live.  Must 
not  your  life  be  even  a  more  beautiful  and  won- 
derful thing  than  these;  must  not  the  colors,  the 
meanings  that  God  has  put  into  it,  be  more  rich 
[26  ] 


a  Coat  of  ittant  Colorji 

and  glorious  than  these  things?  ''Consider  the 
lilies  of  the  field,  how  they  grow;  they  toil  not, 
neither  do  they  spin;  and  yet  I  say  unto  you, 
that  Solomon  in  all  his  glory  was  not  arrayed  like 
one  of  these.  Wherefore,  if  God  so  clothe  the 
grass  of  the  field,  which  to-day  is,  and  to-morrow 
is  cast  into  the  oven,  shall  He  not  much  more 
clothe  you  ?"  Oh,  my  little  friend !  God  has  much 
more  clothed  you.  Your  dear  Father  on  high 
has  given  you,  who  are  His  child,  a  coat  of  many 
colors  more  beautiful  than  the  flowers  of  the 
field,  to  wear  in  remembrance  of  Him;  He  has 
given  you  a  Life  to  live,  that  has  powers  in  it  and 
meanings  in  it  more  wonderful,  more  lasting, 
than  the  red  of  roses  or  the  yellow  of  gold.  And 
I  want  to  help  you  to  know  what  are  some  of 
those  glorious  colors  in  that  robe  of  Life  which 
you  are  wearing,  so  that  you  may  use  that  gift 
sacredly  as  a  Father's  loving  gift  should  be  used, 
that  you  may  not  stain  and  tear  that  precious 
robe  as  you  walk  through  the  thorny  and  some- 
times the  muddy  road  of  Life,  but  may,  through 
the  Saviour's  help,  keep  your  Life  Robe  clean. 
It  is  a  coat  of  many  colors !  It  would  keep 
you  here  too  long,  if  I  were  to  tell  you  of  all  the 
colors  in  that  wonderful  coat  of  life  which  God 

[  27  ] 


€i^e  filter  €np 

has  given  you.  But  I  do  want  to  keep  you  long 
enough,  and  I  think  you  are  ready  to  stay  long 
enough,  to  have  me  tell  you  about  some  of  the 
colors  which  are  very  dear  to  me,  and  what,  I 
think,  they  mean.  I  want  to  tell  you  about  the 
Red,  and  the  Yellow,  and  the  White,  and  the 
Violet,  and  the  Purple  in  your  coat  of  many 
colors. 

What  do  these  five  colors  mean  ?  The  Red  in 
your  coat  of  many  colors  is  the  wonderful  joy  of 
Life ;  the  Yellow  is  the  golden  richness  of  Life ;  the 
White  is  the  truth  and  pureness  of  Life ;  the  Vio- 
let is  the  calm  though tfulness  of  Life;  the  Purple 
is  the  pain  and  pressure  of  Life. 

The  Red,  I  say,  is  the  wonderful  Joy  of  Life. 
Red  is  the  color  of  life.  It  is  the  color  that  flows 
in  your  veins,  that  mounts  into  your  cheeks  when 
you  are  strong  and  happy  and  well.  It  is  a  joyful, 
strong  color.  Do  you  know  the  rose  into  which 
God  has  poured  the  richest  of  this  color  of  Life  ? 
Did  you  ever  look  into  the  depths  of  that  flower 
and  see  how  the  red  grows  so  deep  and  wonderful 
when  you  shade  it,  and  so  high  and  brilliant  when 
you  hold  it  in  the  sun  ?  Ah !  how  well  I  know  the 
red  in  the  life  robe  which  the  Father  has  given 
some  of  you !    He  has  made  your  lives  brilliant 

[28] 


a  Coat  of  pL^nv  Colors! 

with  outside  happiness,  deep  and  rich  with  the 
happiness  of  home.  And  I  only  ask  you  to  re- 
member who  it  was  that  wove  the  Red  into  your 
life  coat.  And  oh !  how  can  you  keep  bright  that 
wonderful  Red.^  I  think  in  no  way  so  surely  as 
by  remembering  the  Giver.  There  is  no  joy  that 
will  last  very  long  unless  it  is  right.  Be  happy  in 
what  is  pure  and  true  and  like  God,  and  happi- 
ness will  last;  but  if  you  seek  your  happiness  in 
such  things  as  God  cannot  bless,  the  red  in  your 
robe  of  life  will  soon  fade  out. 

The  yellow  is  the  Golden  Richness  of  Life. 
Yellow  is  the  color  of  gold :  it  is  the  color  of  many 
spring  flowers;  it  is  the  color  of  the  grain  fields 
when  the  harvest  is  fully  ripe;  it  is  the  color 
that  speaks  to  me  of  a  life  that  knows  the  golden 
privilege  of  living;  that  remembers  how  much 
there  is  to  be  thankful  for ;  that  sees  the  wondrous 
meaning  of  small  things  and  common  things 
which  are  happening  every  day  we  live ;  that  be- 
lieves that  whatever  God  sends  us  is  good.  If 
He  lets  us  carry  out  our  plans,  that  is  good;  if 
He  prevents  us  from  carrying  out  our  plans,  that, 
too,  is  good  —  for  God  does  it,  and  God  is  love ! 
And  in  your  coat  of  many  colors  there  is  always 
that  golden  color  of  richness,  if  you  look  for  it. 

[29] 


Cl^e  ^Wott  Cup 

Selfish,  discontented,  grumbling  hearts  will  not 
try  to  see  it.  They  are  always  finding  fault  with 
things,  with  the  weather;  grumbling  because  it 
rains  when  they  wanted  sunshine,  or  is  cold  when 
they  wanted  it  warm;  grumbling  because  the  plan 
for  the  holiday  has  failed  through  the  sickness 
of  some  one ;  grumbling  at  their  dress  because  it 
is  not  richer,  or  at  their  work  because  it  is  not 
lighter — always  feeling  that  things  are  mean  and 
poor  unless  exactly  such  as  they  wanted  them  to 
be.  Now  such  a  mind  never  will  see  the  golden 
richness  of  life.  Only  the  eyes  can  see  that  im- 
perial yellow  of  the  beauty  of  living  who  can  see 
how  the  Father's  love  and  the  Father's  glory  are 
in  everything.  If  it  is  a  sunshiny  morning,  thanks 
be  to  God ;  if  it  is  a  stormy  morning,  thanks  be  to 
God,  for  storms  are  our  friends  as  much  as  sun- 
shine. Do  you  see  what  I  mean  by  the  Yellow  ? 
White  is  the  Truth  and  Pureness  of  Life. 
White  is  the  red  in  Heaven.  Truth  and  pureness 
are  the  joy  of  those  who  walk  with  God.  The 
white  stone,  the  white  robe,  the  white  throne, 
from  these  comes  the  Light  that  makes  the  white 
in  our  life  robe  on  Earth.  Oh,  children!  what 
can  I  say  to  you  about  keeping  the  white  in 
your  coat  of  many  colors.  Keep  truth,  keep 
[30] 


a  Coat  of  jttan^  Colorjs 

pureness  with  you,  whatever  you  do.  I  know 
how  hard  it  is  for  you  to  meet  in  school,  in  busi- 
ness, every  day  those  who  have  long  since  lost 
the  white  out  of  their  life  robes,  and  who  want 
to  tempt  you  to  stain  that  white  in  your  own. 
Be  true,  oh!  be  true;  a  falsehood  will  weaken 
you,  will  stain  you  so  terribly.  And  as  for  that 
which  is  not  pure,  be  ashamed  to  speak  it;  be 
ashamed  to  think  it;  turn  your  back  upon  it; 
shut  your  eyes  against  it;  hide  yourself  behind 
the  pure  and  holy  Jesus  1  Keep  the  white,  what- 
ever you  do.  And  if  there  should  be  one  young 
heart  who  feels,  as  I  am  speaking,  that  the  white 
in  his  life  robe  is  spotted  already,  I  will  tell 
him  where  to  go.  Go  to  Christ  and  begin  again. 
Be  one  of  those  of  whom  it  shall  be  said :  These 
came  out  of  great  tribulation,  and  washed  their 
robes  and  made  them  white  in  the  blood  of  the 
Lamb. 

The  Violet  is  the  Calm  Thoughtfulness  of  Life. 
Do  you  know  that  in  the  Old  Testament  the 
blue  is  not  our  blue,  but  our  violet  ?  —  and  so 
we  find  there  was  violet  in  the  robes  of  the  High 
Priest,  there  was  violet  in  the  wrappings  of  the 
sacred  altar,  there  was  violet  in  the  coverings 
of  the  Holy  Tabernacle;  and  when  God  told 

[31  ] 


Ci^e  filter  €up 

them  how  to  cover  that  Sacred  Ark  which  hid 
their  holiest  treasures,  He  said  (in  Numbers  4:6): 
"Thou  shalt  spread  over  it  a  cloth  wholly  of  vio- 
let'' As  you  sit  here  so  quietly,  thinking,  think- 
ing about  the  life  robe,  and  as  perhaps  this 
evening  many  of  you  will  sit  by  firesides  or  at 
bedtime  in  your  own  rooms  thinking,  thinking 
about  the  life  robe  of  many  colors,  I  hope  you 
will  see  that  there  is  much  of  the  violet  color  in 
your  life  robe.  There  are  many  sacred  things  in 
life  that  are  to  be  covered  with  a  cloth  wholly  of 
violet.  There  is  a  great  deal  in  Life  that  needs 
to  be  thought  about,  and  to  be  thought  about 
very  quietly  and  calmly  and  gently.  Do  you 
understand  ? 

And,  last  of  all,  the  Purple  is  in  your  life  robe, 
whether  you  know  it  or  not.  It  means  the  pain 
and  the  pressure  that  have  to  come.  When  they 
wanted  Jesus  to  suffer  most,  they  put  on  Him 
a  purple  robe ;  and  He  who  had  so  much  purple 
in  His  life  robe  has  said  to  us:  *'In  the  world 
ye  shall  have  pressure :  but  be  of  good  cheer;  I 
have  overcome  the  world."  Oh,  children !  remem- 
ber your  Creator ;  remember  your  Saviour  in  the 
days  of  your  youth,  while  those  days  of  pain 
and  pressure  come  not.  Then  when  they  come 
[  32] 


a  Coat  of  ^anv  Colors; 

you  will  be  strong  and  not  weak ;  strong  to  make 
others  strong;  strong  to  use  the  Father's  gift 
here,  which  is  ''a  coat  of  many  colors";  strong 
to  win  the  Father's  gift  in  Heaven,  which  is 
a  crown  of  many  stars !  Amen. 


jTear  J^ot 


"  iFeat  not,  little  flocfe  " 
St.  Luke  12  :  32 

I  REMEMBER  perfectly  well  the  very  first  time 
in  my  life  when  these  words  meant  anything  to 
me;  and  that  time  they  meant  so  much,  all  at 
once,  they  have  stayed  with  me  ever  since  as 
almost  the  dearest  words  I  know.  I  was  between 
twelve  and  thirteen  years  old.  It  was  one  morn- 
ing, before  breakfast,  when  I  was  doing  what  I 
hope  every  child  who  hears  me  either  does  or  will 
to-morrow  morning  begin  to  do.  I  was  spending, 
as  I  had  been  taught  to  do,  a  few  moments 
alone,  before  the  day  began,  to  have  a  quiet 
look  into  my  Bible  and  a  short  plain  prayer  to 
God.  As  I  opened  my  Bible  I  saw  these  words, 
which  I  never,  as  far  as  I  remember,  had  seen 
before:  "Fear  not,  little  flock."  I  saw  that  they 
were  the  words  of  the  Saviour.  But  it  was  more 
as  if  my  ears  had  heard  them  than  as  if  my  eyes 
had  seen  them,  more  as  if  the  voice  of  Christ 
had  really  spoken  them  then  and  there  in  my 
little  room  than  as  if  they  were  printed  words 
[34  ] 


lying  still  on  the  page  of  a  book.  "Fear  not, 
little  flock."  When  I  heard  this  I  will  tell  you, 
if  you  will  let  me,  what  I  felt.  Though  I  was  a 
boy  twelve  years  old,  I  felt  as  if  I  wanted  to  cry. 
Why  ?  I  cannot  tell  you,  except  that  there  have 
been  some  things  since  which  have  come  on  me 
suddenly  and  which  have  made  me  feel  the  same 
way. 

I  had  that  feeling  come  suddenly  on  me  the 
other  day  in  Westminster  Abbey,  when  I  heard 
three  hundred  voices  of  persons  who  were  in  a 
high  gallery  say,  not  loudly  but  softly,  while  the 
notes  of  a  great  organ  and  the  tones  of  many 
violins  and  flutes  and  harps  were  woven  like 
gold-work  around  their  words,  and  the  after- 
noon sun  came  down  through  windows  of  purple 
and  blue  and  scarlet:  "Thou  art  the  King  of 
Glory,  O  Christ;  Thou  art  the  Everlasting  Son 
of  the  Father."  The  feeling  that  rushed  on  me 
then  was  the  same  feeling  that  rushed  on  me  in 
that  long-ago  morning,  when  these  words  first 
touched  my  life:  "Fear  not,  little  flock."  For 
there  are  times  when  the  child  of  twelve  feels, 
like  the  man  full  grown,  the  greatness  of  things 
unseen;  when  the  heart  is  full  of  new,  great 
thoughts,  and  the  eyes  are  full  of  happy  tears. 

[35  ] 


That  morning,  long  ago,  I  saw,  in  these  words, 
my  first  clear  view  of  Christ.  There  was  some- 
thing so  strong  and  yet  so  gentle  in  those  words. 
They  seemed  to  be  spoken  so  to  me  and  to  such 
as  I.  They  were  like  Christ's  own  arm  being  put 
about  me,  as  He  led  me  along  the  path  of  Life, 
and  like  His  own  voice  talking  so  frankly  to  me 
about  what  I  must  do,  and  what  I  must  meet, 
and  what  I  must  bear,  and  what  I  must  conquer 
before  boyhood  would  be  over,  and  much  more 
before  manhood  would  be  over.  He  seemed  to 
say  to  me  that  morning:  "My  little  boy,  I  love 
you  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart ;  and  I  will  al- 
ways love  you.  Things  are  going  to  be  hard  for 
you  often,  but  I  do  not  want  you  to  grow  up 
afraid  of  things.  I  want  you  to  be  strong,  I  want 
you  to  have  a  brave  heart,  and  I  am  always  going 
to  help  you  if  you  will  let  me." 

This,  I  do  assure  you,  was  what  came  to  me 
that  morning  before  breakfast,  in  the  words, 
"Fear  not,  little  flock."  It  is  as  clear  to  me  as  if 
it  had  happened  this  morning.  It  was  my  first 
real  thought  about  the  way  God  thinks  of  me.  I 
might  call  it  my  first  impression  of  God ;  and  it 
has  stayed  with  me  ever  since,  a  blessing  and  a 
help  beyond  anything  I  can  describe.  For,  not 
[36] 


always,  but  very  often,  our  first  deep  impressions 
of  things  stay  with  us  always  and  affect  us  power- 
fully in  after  years.  Suppose  a  little  child  grows 
up  to  girlhood  without  ever  once  having  her 
father  pet  her,  or  speak  lovingly  to  her.  It  may 
be  very  hard  for  that  child  in  her  after  years  to 
get  away  from  the  idea  that  her  father  did  not 
care  very  much  for  her.  Suppose  Sunday  is  a 
dreary,  tiresome  day  at  home  in  our  childhood, 
it  may  be  very  hard  for  years  to  grasp  the  idea 
that  Sunday  is  not  of  itself  a  dreary,  tiresome 
day.  Suppose  Sunday  at  home  in  our  childhood 
is  not  made  sacred  but  is  rather  a  more  careless 
and  sinful  day  than  other  days,  because  every- 
body is  idle :  it  may  be  very  hard  in  after  years 
to  break  away  from  that  careless  thought  and  to 
put  the  idea  of  sacredness  into  our  Lord's  special 
day.  Suppose  nobody  at  home  cares  anything 
for  flowers,  or  sees  in  them  anything  wonderful, 
anything  glorious  and  full  of  meaning,  it  is  much 
harder  for  one  so  brought  up  to  find  out  in  after 
years  at  all  what  God  meant  for  us  by  putting 
all  these  wonderful  flowers  within  our  reach  to 
speak  to  us  silently.  Or  suppose  —  for  I  must 
not  go  on  supposing  —  that  you  start  into  your 
childhood  and  youth  without  one  tender,  gentle 

[37] 


Ci^e  ^ilUv  Cup 

loving  thought  about  God,  —  that  God  is  away 
off  from  you  —  has  hardly  anything  to  do  with 
you  and  you  have  hardly  anything  to  do  with 
Him,  —  it  may  be  terribly  hard  for  you  in  after 
life  to  get  away  from  that  idea  and  to  get  into 
the  idea  of  the  love  of  God  for  you,  of  the  dear 
words  of  Christ  to  you,  of  the  sweet  and  faithful 
presence  of  the  Holy  Spirit  with  you,  who  comes 
to  make  you  strong  and  to  make  you  brave  in 
all  that  is  right. 

The  first  thing  I  want  to  say  about  Fear  is 
this:  Fear  is  one  of  the  things  God  put  in  our 
nature.  It  is  there ;  and  the  question  is,  for  what 
purpose  is  it  there  ?  I  make  bold  to  say  this : 
Everybody  is  and  ought  to  be  afraid  of  some- 
thing. Some  people  say  they  are  not  afraid  of  any- 
thing. But  it  is  no  sign  of  a  brave  heart  for  a  per- 
son to  say  that  he  is  not  afraid  of  anything.  And 
it  is  no  sign  of  a  cowardly  heart  for  a  person  to 
acknowledge  that  of  certain  things  he  is  afraid. 
Everything  in  true  bravery  depends  on  what  are 
the  things  you  fear  and  what  are  the  things  you 
do  not  fear.  No  set  of  boys  ever  lived  long  to- 
gether in  a  school  without  showing  great  differ- 
ences as  to  the  things  they  fear  and  the  things 
they  do  not  fear.  No  set  of  people  ever  lived  long 
[38  ] 


fear  ii^ot 

together  in  the  world  without  showing  up  these 
great  differences. 

It  is  very  curious  to  find  what  are  the  things 
people  do  fear.  College  is  a  great  place  to  find 
out  this  sort  of  thing.  There  was  a  man  there  in 
my  time  who  when  he  was  well  was  not  at  all 
afraid  to  use  God's  name  profanely  in  his  con- 
versation; but  once  when  he  was  taken  sick  I 
never  saw  such  a  coward,  for  fear  he  was  going 
to  die.  There  was  one  little  fellow  there  who  was 
afraid  of  the  class  games  and  was  thought  rather 
faint-hearted ;  but  once  when  he  was  called  upon 
to  speak  out  among  some  careless  men  and  con- 
fess that  he  loved  Jesus  Christ  and  was  trying 
to  live  for  Him,  he  came  out  strongly  and  calmly 
and  fearlessly  and  spoke  like  the  hero  that  he 
was.  I  dare  say  many  of  you  have  read  about 
that  little  boy  Arthur  at  Rugby  School  (of  whom 
Mr.  Thomas  Hughes  has  told  us),  who  was  a 
very  sickly,  delicate  boy,  so  desperately  home- 
sick and  afraid  of  the  boys  that  he  was  ridiculed 
and  tormented  by  them  all.  And  the  first  night 
in  the  dormitory  Arthur  knelt  at  his  bedside  to 
pray.  And  the  moment  he  did  so  there  was  a 
perfect  shout  of  laughter  and  things  were  thrown 
at  him  to  disturb  him.    He  finished  his  prayer. 

[39] 


And  the  next  night  when  bedtime  came  the  older 
boys  were  waiting  for  him,  to  see  if  he  would 
dare  to  do  it  again.  And  he  did  it  again,  in  the 
same  calm,  gentle  way.  And  they  laughed  him 
to  scorn.  But  the  little  boy  who  was  so  afraid 
of  many  things  that  boys  did  was  not  afraid  to 
pray  in  their  presence,  and  after  a  time  they  saw 
that  it  was  he  who  was  brave,  and  themselves 
who  were  the  cowards. 

Danger  is  a  great  thing  to  bring  out  the  differ- 
ence between  the  things  that  people  fear.  I  was 
once  in  a  collision  of  two  steamships  a  thousand 
miles  out  at  sea,  in  a  rainstorm,  in  the  middle  of 
the  night.  For  half  an  hour  it  was  believed  by  all 
that  our  ship  was  rapidly  sinking,  and  in  that  half 
hour  I  saw  as  I  never  saw  before  how  some  seem- 
ingly strong  people  are  very  weak,  and  how  some 
seemingly  weak  people  are  very  strong.  Pain  is 
a  great  thing  to  bring  out  this  difference.  Ask 
your  doctor  about  it :  and  although  I  am  sure  he 
would  be  too  honorable  to  tell  you  the  names  of 
people,  yet  I  know  he  will  tell  you  that  he  finds 
some  heroes  and  some  heroines  where  you  would 
least  expect  it,  and  sometimes  he  does  not  find 
them  where  you  would  certainly  have  looked  for 
them.  And  so  I  go  back  to  what  I  said  a  mo- 
[40] 


ftavBot 

ment  since:  everybody  is  and  ought  to  be  afraid 
of  something,  but  everything  in  true  bravery  de- 
pends on  what  are  the  things  you  fear  and  what 
are  the  things  you  do  not  fear.  And  this  is  just 
what  I  want  to  speak  to  you  about,  in  the  few 
moments  more  that  we  spend  together.  One  of 
the  greatest  dangers  we  have  is  that  we  shall  not 
fear  what  we  ought  to  fear,  and  that  we  shall 
fear  what  we  need  not  and  should  not  fear. 

Now  let  us  take  these  two  thoughts  for  a  mo- 
ment. First,  The  danger  of  not  fearing  what  we 
ought  to  fear.  To  show  you  what  kind  of  things 
I  mean  that  we  ought  to  fear,  I  will  mention 
three,  and  you  will  bear  me  witness  that  I  am  not 
speaking  of  imaginary  things:  Wrong  friends, 
wrong  thoughts,  wrong  habits. 

Wrong  friends  are  just  as  easily  found  as  right 
friends ;  sometimes  far  more  easily,  especially  if 
we  are  careless  and  thoughtless.  Wrong  friends 
fit  in  so  naturally  with  our  wrong  thoughts,  they 
are  almost  like  the  outward  expression  of  our 
inward  selves.  It  is  this  that  should  make  you 
fear  them.  There  is  something  in  your  heart  that 
likes  the  wrong  friend,  therefore  be  on  your 
guard.  Now  let  me  speak  to  you  very  closely 
indeed.    When  Jesus  was  in  the  wilderness,  the 

[41  ] 


Cl^e  filter  €np 

greatest  of  all  evil  beings  came  to  Him  and  tried 
to  make  friends  with  Him.  He  said  to  Jesus : 
**  Come,  let  us  be  friends.  I  can  give  you  things 
you  want."  Did  he  succeed?  No!  Why.?  Be- 
cause Jesus's  heart  was  perfectly  clean  and  pure, 
and  there  was  not  anything  in  Him  that  an- 
swered to  the  being  outside;  and  instead,  Jesus 
said  to  that  being  who  wanted  to  make  friends 
with  him,  "Get  thee  behind  me,"  and  that  put 
an  end  to  the  matter.  The  trouble  with  us  is, 
there  is  something  in  our  hearts  that  answers 
kindly  to  the  wrong  friend,  and  that  gives  him 
power  and  makes  us  weaker;  and  we  ought  to 
be  afraid,  terribly  afraid,  lest  in  our  weakness  and 
our  carelessness  we  give  out  our  friendship  to  the 
wrong  friend. 

But  there  is  something  closer  to  fear  than  wrong 
friends.  I  mean,  wrong  thoughts.  Do  not  let 
any  one  make  you  believe  that  you  cannot  help 
what  you  think,  and  so  that  you  can  be  careless 
about  thinking,  letting  your  thoughts  run  where 
they  will.  It  is  a  mistake.  That  power  of  thought 
is  something  that  can  be  used  or  misused  as 
much  as  any  power  we  have ;  and  if  you  find  that 
you  are  tending  to  give  way  to  unloving  thought, 
unhallowed  thought,  selfish  thought,  or  foolish 
[42] 


ftav  i^ot 

thought,  you  have  the  greatest  reason  to  be 
afraid  of  that  tendency  and  to  take  measures  to 
control  it;  for  unless  it  is  controlled  it  will  get 
more  and  more  power  over  you  and  will  be  a 
terrible  burden  and  hindrance  to  you  in  after 
life.  Fervent  believing  prayer  to  God  and  cheer- 
ful whole-hearted  work  for  others  are  the  best 
remedies  I  know  against  an  evil  which  we  ought 
all  to  fear. 

But  there  is  another  thing  to  fear,  which 
simply  because  you  are  young,  you  are  in  danger 
of  not  fearing  —  wrong  habits.  Nobody  knows 
what  habits  are  till  after  they  are  formed.  If  they 
are  good,  if  they  are  bad,  all  the  same  when  you 
get  on  far  enough  you  turn  and  look  back  and 
you  see  what  they  have  done  for  you.  Up  the 
river,  at  West  Point,  there  are  a  great  many  in- 
teresting things  to  be  seen  separately.  Here  is 
the  chapel,  there  are  the  batteries,  here  the  broad 
gray  plain  of  exercise;  but  up  the  mountain  to  the 
north  there  climbs  a  military  road,  bent  by  the 
steepness  into  incessant  angles,  and  if  you  follow 
that  road  it  will  lead  you  on  and  on  till  at  one 
sharp  turn  all  that  has  been  beneath  you  and 
behind  you  lies  before  you,  and  you  see  that  whole 
magnificent  school  of  war  as  one  thing,  all  its 

[43] 


parts  related,  all  its  uses  compacted  together. 
Such  is  the  sudden  view  we  sometimes  have  back 
into  past  years,  of  the  way  in  which  separate  acts 
have  compacted  themselves  into  habits.  Habits 
are  made  out  of  acts  repeated.  Acts  which  in  the 
doing  of  them  seem  separate,  but  which  are  seen 
to  have  been  closely  connected,  when  we  look 
back  on  them  from  farther  up  the  road.  Habits 
cannot  be  made  without  acts.  Wrong  acts  put 
you  in  danger  of  wrong  habits,  therefore  be 
afraid  of  them  now.  The  lazy  act  repeated 
thoughtlessly,  disconnectedly  day  after  day  may 
already  be  a  growing  habit  of  laziness,  though 
you  know  it  not.  The  careless,  exaggerated  way 
of  speaking  may  already  be  a  growing  habit  of 
untruth,  though  you  dream  not  of  it.  And  my 
thought  travels  on,  as  perhaps  the  thoughts  of 
some  of  you  travel  on,  to  other,  darker  things, 
about  which,  though  I  have  not  spoken  out- 
wardly, yet  you  know  I  have  silently  spoken  the 
truth.  These  are  the  things  to  fear.  These  are 
the  things  it  is  brave  to  fear.  This  is  the  fear 
that  makes  a  child  a  conqueror.  This  fear  is  not 
cowardice.  It  is  holiness;  it  is  moral  strength; 
it  is  the  child's  crown  of  glory ;  it  is  the  boy's 
armor  of  righteousness.  This  weakness  is  the 
[44  ] 


!f ear  j5ot 

power  of  God.   This  eternal  dread  of  sin  is  the 
youth's  victory  that  overcomes  the  world. 

But  now  for  our  other  thought,  and  it  is  the 
last  one  we  shall  take  up  to-day.  We  have  been 
talking  of  the  danger  of  not  fearing  things  we 
ought  to  fear.  Now  there  is  just  as  great  a 
danger  on  the  other  side  —  the  danger  that  we 
may  grow  up  to  fear  things  that  we  ought  never 
and  need  never  to  fear.  It  is  very  easy  to  get  on 
the  wrong  track  in  this  matter  —  not  to  fear  the 
things  that  are  hurtful  and  evil,  and  then  to  fear 
things  that  are  really  great  and  noble  and  sent 
from  God.  It  is  about  some  of  these  noble  things 
which  frighten  us,  that  I  would  speak  in  closing 
our  sermon.  There  was  for  some  years  a  discus- 
sion going  on  in  a  certain  circle  in  London  as  to 
how  to  decorate  the  inside  of  the  dome  of  St. 
Paul's  Cathedral.  Standing  on  the  floor  of  the 
Cathedral,  you  looked  up  into  that  splendid  dome 
with  its  vast  vacant  wall  spaces.  There  were 
just  so  many  spaces  between  the  windows  to  be 
filled,  and  one  or  two  attempts  had  been  made, 
but  nobody  seemed  to  think  of  anything  grand 
enough  to  put  into  these  spaces.  Now  I  think  if 
God  said  to  me  to-day,  '*Here  is  a  child's  heart 
—  a  grand  and  beautiful  place  —  waiting  to  be 

[45  ] 


Ci^e  ^(Iber  Cup 

filled  with  grand  and  beautiful  ideas;  here  are 
four  spaces  in  that  heart  which  I  give  you  to  fill 
with  four  thoughts  that  will  make  the  child 
brave;  have  you  got  four  such  thoughts  to  give  ?  " 
I  should  answer  immediately,  Yes,  I  have  four 
thoughts  to  put  right  into  the  four  spaces  in  that 
child's  heart,  and  they  are  worthy  to  go  there. 
They  are  thoughts  that  if  the  child  will  take 
them  and  believe  them,  will  make  its  life  broad, 
high-minded,  generous,  patient,  earnest,  and  at 
the  end  heroic.  Shall  I  tell  them  to  you  ?  Every 
one  of  them  has  come  from  thinking  about  what 
has  come  to  me  since  Christ  first  spoke  in  my 
hearing  so  long  ago  the  words,  **Fear  not,  little 
flock." 

Be  not  afraid  of  God.  Be  not  afraid  of  any 
of  God's  works.  Be  not  afraid  of  life.  Be  not 
afraid  of  death. 

Be  not  afraid  of  God.  Any  child  who  knows 
the  Bible  knows  that  we  are  told  to  'Tear  God"; 
but  that  does  not  mean  to  be  afraid  of  God.  It 
means  to  dread  and  to  fear  all  that  is  not  pleasing 
to  God,  and  to  have  such  reverence  and  love  to 
Him  that  we  shall  be  afraid  of  anything  that 
would  lead  us  away  from  Him,  but  not  to  be 
afraid  of  Him.  You  have  nothing  to  fear  from 
[46] 


^ear  /Sot 

God.  Your  mother  and  father  are  not  able  to 
love  you  as  much  as  God  loves  you,  simply  be- 
cause they  are  human  and  God  is  divine,  and 
so  stronger  and  able  to  do  more.  Whatever  you 
might  be  afraid  of,  do  not  be  afraid  of  God.  If 
you  met  with  an  accident  and  had  to  suffer  a 
great  deal  perhaps  through  weakness  and  faint- 
ness,  you  might  be  afraid  of  the  pain,  but  you 
would  not  be  afraid  of  your  mother  if  she  stood 
by  and  held  your  hand.  So  in  life  you  may  have 
to  suffer  things  that  make  you  afraid,  but  do  not 
be  afraid  of  God,  for  He  is  the  One,  closer  even 
than  your  mother,  who  holds  your  hand  always 
and  says :  '*Fear  not,  little  child,  I  am  with  you, 
I  love  you." 

Be  not  afraid  of  any  of  God's  works.  If  you 
love  your  mother,  you  never  think  that  she  would 
do  anything  to  frighten  you.  If  you  love  God, 
you  ought  never  to  think  that  He  would  do  any- 
thing to  frighten  ypu.  Of  some  things  that  He 
does  you  never  would  think  of  being  afraid. 
When  He  makes  the  wild  flowers  open  like 
plumes  of  gold  in  the  field,  when  He  turns  the 
leaves  crimson  with  His  early  frosts,  you  are 
not  frightened.  Why  then  should  you  be  fright- 
ened  when  the   thunder   clouds   come   up   the 

[47] 


west;  when  the  roar  of  the  winds  fills  the  air; 
or  when  the  darkness  fills  your  room  at  night? 
Does  not  He  love  you  in  the  storm  as  in  the  sun- 
light ?  Are  not  the  darkness  and  the  light  both 
alike  to  Him  ?  Are  not  you  in  the  hollow  of  His 
hand  just  the  same  in  your  own  white  bed  at 
home  and  in  the  tossing  ship  at  sea  ?  If  you  will 
only  feel  that  in  these  greater  and  louder  ways, 
as  in  the  silent  ways,  the  same  dear  voice  is  al- 
ways saying,  *'Fear  not,  little  flock,"  you  will  find 
that  the  noise  of  the  storm  and  the  wings  of  the 
wind  carry  you  into  the  fellowship,  the  safety, 
the  peace  of  God,  and  your  heart  will  grow 
grand  in  the  grandeur  of  storms. 

Be  not  afraid  of  life.  Some  day  every  one  of 
you  will  have  to  find  out  for  yourselves  what  this 
means.  I  know,  but  I  can  hardly  tell  you,  for  it 
is  made  up  of  so  many  things.  It  means  getting 
discouraged,  losing  heart,  being  hurt  by  other 
people,  trying  for  something  and  failing,  —  it 
means  one  thing  to  a  girl,  another  thing  to  a  boy 
—  something  to  everybody.  You  just  feel  afraid 
to  live  —  afraid  to  go  on.  You  would  like  to  stop 
and  give  up,  and  your  heart  is  as  heavy  as  lead. 
If  I  believe  anything  in  the  world,  I  believe  those 
are  the  times  when  Christ  comes  to  boys  and  girls 
148] 


ftav  i6ot 

who  love  Him,  and  He  just  puts  His  strength 
around  them  and  says:  **Fear  not,  little  flock." 
Be  brave  again.  It  won't  do  to  give  up.  There 's 
a  meaning  in  all  this  hardness.  It  means  strength 
for  you  if  you  bear  it  rightly.  I  see  the  meaning 
now ;  you  will  see  it  soon  if  you  only  trust  and 
do  right  and  fear  not. 

Be  not  afraid  of  death.  Why  should  I  not  say 
something  to  you  about  this  —  to  you  who  are 
children.?  Do  we  not  know  that  children  may 
die.?  Are  we  not  thinking,  some  of  us,  of  a 
child's  death  that  we  shall  never,  never  forget.? 
There  is  nothing  in  death  to  fear  if  we  can 
look  steadily  upward.  When  a  beautiful,  brave 
Christian  child  dies,  it  is  not  hard  for  her,  but 
for  us  who  miss  her.  She  has  triumphed,  she  is 
perfect.  Her  brave  sweet  life  has  gone  right  on  in 
the  Home  of  Homes.  Let  us  think  only  this  way 
of  death.  Let  us  put  away  all  other  thoughts.  And 
who  knows  —  after  all  it  may  be  easier  to  die 
bravely  than  it  is  to  live  bravely.  But  I  know 
Christ  can  do  all  we  need.  We  need  Him  now  to 
make  us  brave  to  live,  and  -He  will  surely  be 
there  —  to  make  us  brave  to  die.   Amen. 


JEessengers 

Isaiah  6 :  8 

When  one  person  says  to  another, ''  Send  me," 
he  asks  that  he  may  be  a  messenger.  When  a 
person  says  in  prayer  to  God,  "Send  me,"  he 
asks  God  to  use  him  as  a  messenger.  It  is  of 
messengers  I  shall  speak  to-day  —  God's  special 
messengers  whom  He  picks  out  for  special  ser- 
vice here  and  there. 

You  will  find  it  very  interesting  to  make  some- 
time a  Bible  study,  with  pencil  and  paper,  of  all 
the  special  messengers  named  in  the  Bible,  and 
of  what  each  was  sent  to  do.  For  example,  be- 
ginning with  this  text,  you  will  find  Isaiah  to  have 
been  a  special  messenger.  That  is  a  wonderful 
story,  where  Isaiah  saw  the  magnificent  glory  of 
God  in  the  temple,  and  the  many-winged  angels 
crowding  around  him.  And  he  says :  **  I  heard  the 
voice  of  the  Lord  saying.  Whom  shall  I  send,  and 
who  will  go  for  us.?  Then  said  I,  Here  am  I; 
send  me.  And  He  said.  Go !"  You  will  find  that 
Moses  was  a  special  messenger.  God  took  him 
[50  ] 


from  the  sheep  that  he  was  feeding  and  said: 
"Come  now,  therefore,  and  I  will  send  thee  unto 
Pharaoh.  Certainly  I  will  be  with  thee,  and  this 
shall  be  a  token  unto  thee  that  I  have  sent  thee." 
You  will  find  that  John  the  Baptist  was  a  special 
messenger.  God  called  him  from  his  childhood 
and  trained  him  for  his  work,  saying :  '*  Behold  I 
send  my  messenger  before  Christ's  face,  to  pre- 
pare the  way  before  Him."  You  will  find  that  the 
Apostles  of  Jesus  were  His  special  messengers. 
He  said:  "Behold  I  send  you  forth  as  sheep  in 
the  midst  of  wolves."  You  will  find  that  the  great 
St.  Paul  was  distinctly  a  special  messenger.  He 
says  himself  in  one  place:  "God  said  unto  me. 
Depart,  for  I  will  send  thee  far  hence  unto  the 
Gentiles."  You  will  find  that  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ  Himself  was,  while  on  earth,  a  special 
messenger  from  God  the  Father,  and  that  He 
said,  *'My  meat  is  to  do  the  will  of  Him  that 
sent  me,  and  to  finish  His  work."  Yes !  if  you 
make  a  Bible  study,  with  pencil  and  paper,  of  the 
special  messengers,  it  will  be  much  larger  than 
the  list  I  have  named,  and  you  will  find  that 
Isaiah,  and  Moses,  and  John  the  Baptist,  and 
the  first*  Apostles,  and  St.  Paul,  and  Christ  Him- 
self, and  all  the  rest,  however  diflScult  the  spe- 

[51  ] 


Cl^e  ^Wott  Cup 

cial  messenger  work  was,  and  however  some  of 
them  hesitated  at  first,  were  at  last  willing  and 
ready  to  go,  and  they  said,  each  by  his  life.  Send 
me. 

And  this  makes  me  think  of  what  a  difference 
there  is  between  some  messengers  and  others. 
How  hard  it  is  to  get  some  and  how  easy  to  get 
others  for  special  service. 

The  other  day  I  found  how  hard  it  is  to  get 
some  messengers.  It  was  the  day  after  a  great 
storm.  I  have  a  district  telegraph  instrument  in 
my  house,  as  many  of  us  have.  I  wanted  a  mes- 
senger and  sent  in  a  signal.  Nobody  came,  and 
we  learned  after  a  while  that  the  wire  was  down. 
They  mended  the  wire  and  I  sent  in  another 
signal.  This  time  a  policeman  came,  with  his 
club,  and  I  found  my  instrument  was  out  of 
order.  I  fixed  the  instrument  and  sent  in  another 
signal.  This  time  a  boy  did  come;  but  oh!  how 
sad  and  unwilling  the  poor  little  fellow  looked, 
when  I  told  him  where  it  was  necessary  for  me 
to  send  him  through  the  deep  drifts.  He  looked 
as  if  he  only  would  go  to  keep  from  losing  his 
position.  So  that  I  found  how  hard  it  may  be 
to  get  a  messenger,  and  above  all  a  willing  mes- 
senger. ^ 

[52] 


But  the  other  evening  something  quite  different 
happened.  A  family  were  all  seated  comfortably 
around  the  parlor  table.  An  older  brother  was 
writing  a  letter;  a  younger  brother  was  deep  in 
an  interesting  book.  The  letter  was  finished,  and 
the  writer  said  to  the  younger  brother:  '>I  won- 
der if  you  will  be  my  messenger,  and  deliver  this 
letter  for  me  now!"  And  the  boy  laid  down  his 
interesting  book,  and  sprang  up  at  once,  saying, 
with  a  bright,  willing  smile  on  his  face,  "Cer- 
tainly I  will,"  and  off  he  went  with  the  letter. 
Some  may  say  that  is  a  very  small  matter  ever  to 
speak  of  again,  but  it  does  not  seem  to  me  a 
small  matter.  It  seems  to  me  that  if  that  spirit 
grows  and  strengthens  in  that  boy's  life,  there 
may  come  a  time  when  God  will  want  him,  as 
God  wanted  Isaiah,  for  some  grand  and  difficult 
special  service  in  the  world,  and  the  boy  grown 
a  man,  and  burning  with  Christ's  eager,  willing 
spirit,  will  look  up  into  God  his  Father's  face 
and  answer:  "Here  am  I;  send  me." 

You  see  the  difference  between  the  two  mes- 
sengers was  this:  Love.  There  was  no  love  at 
all  in  the  district  telegraph  boy's  messenger 
work:  it  was  with  him,  poor  little  fellow!  hard, 
bad  business,  just  to  earn  his  wages.  But  in  the 

[53  ] 


Ci^e  filter  Cup 

heart  of  the  boy  at  home  there  was  love  —  a  love 
for  those  at  home ;  and  a  deeper  love  —  the  love 
of  being  kind  and  of  being  useful. 

I  heartily  wish  that  the  boys  and  girls  of  this 
church,  beside  making  a  Bible  study  of  the  spe- 
cial messengers  of  the  old  days,  would  make  all 
through  these  years  of  their  boyhood  and  girl- 
hood a  study  of  the  special  messengers  of  modern 
times,  by  which  I  mean  books  of  biography,  the 
lives  of  the  men  and  of  the  women  who  at  the 
call  of  God  have  done  brave  and  good  work  in 
special  ways  for  Him,  —  some  as  soldiers ;  some 
as  philanthropists ;  some  as  physicians ;  some  as 
statesmen ;  some  as  ministers ;  some  as  business 
men ;  and  some  —  oh,  so  many  —  as  the  helpers 
of  others  in  quiet  home  life  and  in  beautiful, 
compassionate,  unselfish  city  work.  I  hope,  oh, 
I  hope  you  will  grow  to  love  books  of  biography, 
and  all  books  that  record  the  intense,  unsparing, 
high-minded  devotion  of  the  brave,  consecrated 
hearts  that  God  has  picked  out  to  be  His  special 
messengers ;  not  always,  by  any  means,  because 
they  had  greater  gifts  than  some  others,  but  be- 
cause they  had  given  themselves  so  devotedly  to 
His  service,  to  do  anything  He  asked  them  to  do 
—  to  stand  always  ready,  expectant,  eager  to  be 
[54] 


specially  used,  eager  to  cry,  in  the  prospect  of  any 
unselfish  toil,  *'Here  am  I;  send  me." 

My  heart  fills  up  with  enthusiasm  so  that  I 
can  scarcely  speak  when  I  remember  the  stories 
that  I  know  and  love  of  the  special  messengers 
of  all  kinds.  Boys,  do  you  remember  *'Paul 
Revere's  Ride,"  as  Longfellow  recorded  it  ?  Do 
you  remember  how  the  British  were  lying  in  Bos- 
ton in  1775,  and  nobody  knew  what  they  would 
do,  or  when  they  would  attack  the  villages  in 
the  county  of  Middlesex  ?  Paul  Revere  watched 
them,  and  made  sure  they  would  move  on  a  cer- 
tain night,  the  night  of  April  18.  But  how  they 
would  leave  Boston,  by  land  or  by  water,  he 
could  not  tell.  He  arranged  with  his  friend  to 
watch  that  night  from  the  belfry  of  the  North 
Church,  and  when  the  British  moved,  to  signal 
with  lights,  — one  light  if  they  moved  by  land; 
two  lights  if  they  moved  by  water.  Meanwhile 
he  rowed  with  muiSBed  oars  across  the  river  and, 
walking  anxiously  back  and  forth  by  the  side  of 
his  saddled  horse  —  waited  on  the  Charlestown 
shore  for  the  signal  from  the  belfry.  It  came  at 
last  — two  lights.  And,  springing  to  his  saddle, 
he  rides,  rides  through  the  night  with  the  hoofs 
of  his  horse  striking  sparks  from  the  flints  on  the 

[55] 


road.  He  rides,  he  rides  shouting  the  tidings  as  he 
goes :  through  Medf ord  town  at  twelve ;  through 
Lexington  at  one ;  through  Concord  at  two. 

So  through  the  night  rode  Paul  Revere; 

And  so  through  the  night  went  his  cry  of  alarm 

To  every  Middlesex  village  and  farm,  — 

A  cry  of  defiance  and  not  of  fear, 

A  voice  in  the  darkness,  a  knock  at  the  door. 

And  a  word  that  shall  echo  forevermore! 

For,  borne  on  the  night-wind  of  the  Past, 

Through  all  our  history,  to  the  last, 

In  the  hour  of  darkness  and  peril  and  need. 

The  people  will  waken  and  listen  to  hear 

The  hurrying  hoof-beats  of  that  steed. 

And  the  midnight  message  of  Paul  Revere. 

Do  I  not  speak  these  words  in  the  presence  of 
boys  whose  hearts  respond  to  them  with  glorious 
passion  ?  Do  I  not  speak  to  some  who  hope  that 
life  may  hold  some  special  service  for  them,  into 
which  they  may  throw  themselves,  as  Paul  Re- 
vere threw  himself  into  his  ?  Do  I  not  speak  to 
boys  who  see  even  now  the  grandeur  of  great 
usefulness  for  others  —  who  see  that  the  world 
is  full  of  people  who  need  to  be  awakened,  who 
need  to  be  told  of  their  danger,  who  need  some 
one  to  ride  among  them  with  rescue.'^  Is  there 
[56] 


not  more  than  one  boy  here  who  looks  up  into 
the  face  of  God  and  prays  with  Isaiah:  '*Send 
me";  who  stands  with  Paul  Revere  waiting  for 
the  signal  of  light,  and  ready  to  be  up  and  away 
into  the  years  of  service,  warning  men  of  their 
danger,  and  waking  them  to  the  splendid  strife 
for  God  and  truth  and  moral  liberty  ? 

Yes,  my  younger  friends,  I  hope  you  will  read 
and  fill  your  minds  with  the  stories  of  the  special 
messengers.  I  hope  you  will  gather  from  prose 
and  from  poetry  the  mighty  things  recorded  of 
men  and  women  who  have  heard  in  their  early 
days  the  voice  of  the  Lord  saying,  "Whom  shall 
I  send,  and  who  will  go  for  me  ?"  and  who  have 
answered  by  offering  themselves  for  service  at  the 
feet  of  Jesus  Christ,  saying,  "Here  am  I;  send 


me." 


If  there  were  time  I  would  tell  you  of  many 
of  these  special  messengers,  but  our  time  is 
too  quickly  going  from  us.  I  would  tell  you  of 
Thomas  Hughes's  Life  of  Daniel  Macmillan, 
that  brave  soul  in  a  frail  body,  who  came  from 
his  Scotch  home  to  begin  life  in  London;  who, 
fighting  that  battle  of  life  which  ended  only  when 
he  had  founded  the  great  publishing  house  and 
had  become  a  strong  special  messenger  of  good 

[  57] 


Cl^e  ^iVbtv  Cup 

to  many,  still  and  ever  honored  his  parents,  say- 
ing once:  ''The  end  of  the  whole  matter  is  that 
I  think  there  is  nobody  like  mother  in  the  whole 
world."  I  would  tell  you  of  Sir  Walter  Besant's 
Life  of  Edward  Henry  Palmer,  that  brilliant  and 
fearless  Cambridge  professor,  who,  when  Egypt 
was  convulsed  by  Arabic  insurrection,  and  when 
there  was  fear  of  a  hostile  rising  of  all  the  fierce 
tribes  of  the  Arabian  desert,  undertook,  single- 
handed,  to  go  as  a  special  messenger  of  peace 
among  all  those  wild,  treacherous  tribes  and  keep 
them  quiet;  who  did  it  as  he  promised,  and  lost 
his  life  by  treachery  just  as  his  work  was  ending. 
I  would  like  to  tell  you  of  that  remarkable  spe- 
cial messenger  of  modern  times,  Charles  George 
Gordon,  who,  for  his  incomparable  bravery  in 
China  was  called  **  Chinese  Gordon" ;  how  all  his 
life  and  everyw^here  he  felt  himself  to  be  God's 
messenger  for  the  good  of  others ;  how  during  the 
six  quiet  years  at  Gravesend,  almost  the  only 
quiet  years  of  his  life,  he  spent  his  time  rescuing 
poor  degraded  boys  from  shameful  lives,  washing 
them,  clothing  them,  teaching  them,  keeping  them 
for  weeks  in  his  own  house,  and  getting  them 
positions  on  ships.  In  those  years  he  kept  a  map 
of  the  world  hung  up  over  his  mantelpiece.   The 

[  58  ] 


map  was  stuck  full  of  pins.  When  asked  by  a 
friend  what  the  pins  meant,  he  said  they  marked 
and  followed  the  course  of  his  boys  on  their 
voyages ;  that  they  were  moved  from  point  to 
point  as  the  ships  went  on,  and  that  he  prayed 
for  the  boys  as  they  went,  night  and  day.  I  would 
like  to  have  told  you  of  such  books  as  the  Life 
of  Harrington,  the  martyr  Bishop  of  Equatorial 
Africa,  and  the  Life  of  Chalmers,  the  great  and 
loving  minister  of  Jesus  in  Edinburgh,  and  the 
Life  of  the  Earl  of  Shaftesbury,  and  the  Life  of 
Samuel  Morley,  the  philanthropist,  and  the  Life 
of  Phillips  Brooks.  There  is  no  reason  why  in- 
telligent youths  from  fourteen  to  seventeen  should 
not  begin  to  find  inspiration  and  guidance  in  these 
splendid  stories  of  God's  special  messengers.  I 
would  like  to  suggest  to  some  of  you  to  study  that 
short  but  wonderful  poem  by  Robert  Browning, 
called  ''The  Boy  and  the  Angel,"  to  see  if  you 
can  find  out  the  deep  lesson  it  teaches  about  how 
the  true  special  messenger  must  be  truly  and 
obediently  willing  to  go  or  to  stay  just  when  and 
where  God  wants  him  to  go  or  to  stay.  But  I 
can  merely  speak  of  these  things;  I  cannot  go 
into  them  as  I  would.  Yet  perhaps  even  the 
speaking  of  them  may  set  some  of  you  on  their 

[59] 


Cl^e  ^flber  Cup 

track,  and  may  bring  closer  to  the  hearts  of  some 
of  you  the  reality  of  this  great  thought  of  special 
service.   I  pray  God  it  may  surely  be  so. 

And  now  as  our  time  draws  to  an  end,  out  of 
all  that  we  have  said  about  the  special  messengers 
there  come  three  thoughts  which  I  want  to  put 
to  you  for  your  acceptance  and  for  your  remem- 
brance. First,  the  idea  of  special  service.  Second, 
the  varieties  of  special  service.  Third,  the  train- 
ing for  special  service. 

First,  the  idea  of  special  service.  All  history 
proves  that  it  is  a  real  idea  and  not  an  imaginary 
one  that  God  picks  out  special  messengers  for 
all  branches  of  service ;  that  He  finds  for  the  life 
that  comes  to  Him  saying  fervently,  "Send  me" 
—  that  He  finds  for  that  life  a  message  and  an 
errand,  and  says  to  it,  "Go/"  It  was  so  in  the 
ages  of  the  Bible  record;  it  is  so  this  day,  this 
hour,  here  in  America,  yonder  in  Central  Africa, 
away  in  India,  all  over  the  world,  in  all  sorts  of 
service.  God  is  finding  the  men  and  the  women 
He  wants  who  are  lifting  up  their  hearts  to  Him 
in  sincerity  and  truth,  and  saying,  "Here  am  I, 
send  me."  These  are  God's  volunteers.  These 
are  the  hearts  to  whom  service  is  love,  not 
drudgery.  These  are  the  people  that  are  every- 
[60] 


where  springing  to  work,  in  all  kinds  of  ways, 
in  all  kinds  of  weathers  —  the  "ever-victorious 
army"  of  the  volunteers.  Of  such  a  spirit  must 
have  been  the  crew  of  whom  I  heard  the  other 
day,  whom  the  captain  of  a  bark  called  before 
him  in  a  storm,  and  pointed  to  a  boiling  sea  in 
which  was  tossing  heavily  a  dismantled,  sinking 
ship.  And  he  pointed  to  her,  with  the  dying 
men  on  her,  and  he  shouted  in  the  wind  to  his 
own  men:  "You  see  her!  Who  will  go  to  her.?" 
And  every  man  that  heard  him  saluted  and  said, 
Send  me.  Yes,  it  is  a  real  idea,  this  one  of  special 
service.  And  the  question  I  want  to  ask  is :  Why 
should  not  each  of  you  do  special  service  for  the 
Captain  of  your  salvation.  Why  should  one  boy 
or  one  girl  be  content  with  a  halting,  halfway 
life,  when  the  glorious  Lord  stands  in  His  temple 
and  points  out  to  you  the  many  ways  in  which 
special  service  may  be  given,  and  asks,  in  the 
hearing  of  you  all,  of  you  who  have  your  lives  yet 
in  your  hands,  to  give  them  or  to  keep  them 
back:  "Whom  shall  I  send,  and  who  will  go  — 
for  Me?" 

I  ask  you  to  consider,  second,  the  varieties  of 
special  service.  You  are  just  as  different  from 
each  other  as  you  can  be.  And  I  know  that  this 

[61] 


difference  which  is  so  marked  now  means  that 
you  are  to  travel  through  life  by  many  different 
paths.  You  are  not  going  to  do  the  same  things, 
and  march  on  to  the  end  like  a  regiment  in  close 
order.  You  are  going  to  scatter  soon,  as  life  opens 
up  wider,  and  each  one  who  has  truly  said,  and 
keeps  truly  saying  to  God,  "Send  me,  send  me 
to  work  where  Thou  wilt,  to  do  what  Thou  wilt," 
each  one  who  goes  in  such  a  spirit  will  get  his 
commission  as  a  special  messenger,  in  some  part 
of  God's  wide  field  of  service.  And  I  do  not  know 
why  we  may  not  look  ahead  —  in  fact,  I  cannot 
help  looking  ahead,  and  trying  to  fancy  where 
you  will  be,  and  what  you  will  be  doing  as 
God's  special  messengers  twenty  years  hence. 
"Twenty  years  hence .^"  you  say;  "what  a 
terribly  long  time!"  Oh  no,  my  friends;  not 
a  terribly  long  time  at  all.  Not  long  when  you 
look  back.  It 's  just  twenty  years  since  I  left  my 
father's  house  to  go  to  college,  and  short  and  few 
indeed  seem  the  years  that  lie  between.  Take  a 
boy  of  fifteen.  In  twenty  years  he  is  thirty-five, 
and  by  that  time  it  is  pretty  well  established 
whether  or  no  he  has  his  commission  for  special 
service.  As  I  look  ahead  now,  over  your  twenty 
years  to  come,  I  cannot  help  believing,  I  do  not 

[62] 


PLtmmm 

want  to  keep  from  believing,  that  by  that  time 
many  of  the  young  lives  gathered  here  to-day 
will  evidently  be  showing  to  the  world  that  they 
are  the  special  messengers  of  One  who  makes 
no  mistake  in  sending  out  His  own.  Widely 
different  will  be  your  paths,  —  in  the  army,  in 
the  navy,  in  the  ministry  of  the  Gospel,  in  trade, 
in  banking,  in  law,  in  medicine,  in  philanthropic 
science,  in  teaching,  in  all  these  ways  and  depart- 
ments God  has  to-day  His  special  messengers, 
and  on  these  various  paths  you  too  shall  find 
your  several  ways,  and  shall  show  that  you  have 
been  sent  in  to  them. 

This  being  so,  the  question  of  questions  for 
each  boy  and  each  girl  is  on  the  training  for 
special  service.  Concerning  this  I  want  to  say 
but  a  very  few  words,  and  to  say  them  very 
quietly.  This  life  which  now  lies  before  you  is 
your  one  life,  and  you  do  not  want  to  make  any 
mistake  with  it.  There  is  one  right  way  to  begin. 
It  is  easy  to  miss  it.  It  is  easy  to  find  it.  It  is 
to  come  and  offer  yourselves  to  Jesus  as  His 
special  messengers.  Of  coming  to  Him  who  died 
for  you  and  now  forever  lives  and  saying  each 
one  for  himself:  ** Jesus,  my  Master,  here  am 
I;  send  me."  When  you  have  made  this  begin- 

[63] 


Ci^e  ^Uber  Cup 

ning,  the  special  training  will  begin  in  a  new 
way.  All  your  friends  will  look  upon  you,  Jesus 
Himself  will  look  upon  you  as  one  who  has  said, 
Send  me,  and  your  daily  life  will  be  your  train- 
ing. At  home,  at  school,  in  work,  in  play,  alone, 
with  friends,  in  joy,  in  hardship,  in  health,  in 
sickness,  in  your  visits  of  consolation  to  the  poor 
and  suffering,  in  the  secret  place  of  prayer,  in 
your  time  of  Bible  study,  in  the  church  of  God, 
and  at  the  communion  table  of  Him  whose  mes- 
senger you  have  asked  to  be.  He  who  loves  you, 
and  who  has  chosen  you  to  be  His  messenger, 
will  be  training  you  for  your  special  life  work. 
Amen. 


Titus  1-4,  R.  V. 

You  will  notice  that  the  text  of  the  sermon  is 
given  thus :  Titus  1 : 4,  R.  V.,  "My  true  child." 
What  is  the  meaning  of  those  two  letters, "  R.V."  ? 
They  mean  Revised  Version.  And  what  does 
"Revised  Version"  mean.?  Aversion  is  a  "trans- 
lation," that  is,  turning  the  words  of  one  language 
into  the  words  of  another,  as  for  example  a  boy 
at  school  is  translating  the  Greek  of  Homer  into 
English,  or  the  Latin  of  Virgil  into  English. 
To  "revise"  means  to  look  over  a  translation 
a  second  time,  very  carefully,  correcting  any 
little  mistakes.  Suppose,  at  school,  you  should 
write  out  a  translation  of  twenty  lines  of  Vir- 
gil, —  that  would  be  a  version.  Suppose  your 
teacher  should  take  your  version  and  go  over 
it  carefully  and  correct  some  little  errors  and 
change  one  or  two  words  so  as  to  make  them 
more  exactly  like  the  real  words  of  Virgil,  —  that 
would  be  a  revised  version. 

Now  you  know,  of  course,  that  there  was  no 
English  language  at  the  time  the  New  Testa- 

[65] 


Ci^e  sutler  Cup 

ment  was  written.  It  was  written  in  Greek.  But 
as  soon  as  there  was  an  English  language,  men 
began  to  translate  the  Greek  into  English.  A 
great  many  translations  or  versions  were  made. 
At  last,  in  the  year  1611,  a  great  company  of 
scholars,  after  much  study,  finished  a  magnificent 
version  both  of  the  Old  Testament  (translated 
out  of  Hebrew)  and  of  the  New  Testament  (out 
of  Greek),  and  that  is  the  English  Bible  which  we 
all  have,  and  which  we  all  love  —  the  Bible  that, 
I  trust,  you  go  to  every  day  of  your  life  for  coun- 
sel and  help.  In  1881  that  wonderful  New  Tes- 
tament, English  version  of  1611,  was  gone  over 
verse  by  verse,  by  a  great  company  of  Greek 
scholars,  to  see  if  any  little  changes  could  be 
made  which  would  show  us  more  exactly  the  full 
meaning  of  the  Greek ;  and  so  we  have  come  to 
have  not  only  the  glorious  version  of  1611,  but 
the  Revised  Version  of  1881  —  and  we  use  them 
both.  We  compare  one  with  the  other  in  our 
Bible  study ;  and  sometimes  we  find  that  the  Re- 
vised Version  throws  new  light  upon  the  word 
of  God,  and  brings  out  a  fuller  meaning  from 
some  sentence  or  verse.  The  Bible  has  not 
changed;  the  Bible  cannot  change.  But  we, 
thanks  to  the  work  of  scholars,  are  finding  out 

[66] 


more  and  more  the  richer,  deeper  meanings  of 
the  Bible. 

In  our  text  for  to-day  we  find  a  beautiful  ex- 
ample of  the  way  the  Revised  Version  takes  us 
one  step  nearer  to  the  rich  meaning  of  the  words 
that  St.  Paul  really  wrote  in  Greek.  He  was 
writing  a  letter  to  his  dear  young  friend  Titus, 
advising  him  in  a  great  many  important  matters. 
We  do  not  know  much  about  Titus,  except  that 
he  was  a  good  deal  younger  than  Paul,  so  that 
Paul  could  advise  him  and  watch  over  him  just 
as  if  Titus  were  his  own  son,  although  Titus 
was  now  a  grown  man.  And  we  also  know  there 
was  something  in  Titus  which  Paul  loved  dearly, 
trusted  entirely,  and  leaned  upon  gladly.  How 
do  we  know  this  ?  We  know  it  by  the  words  in 
the  Revised  Version  which  bring  before  us  the 
exact  meaning  of  what  Paul's  own  hand  wrote : 
"To  Titus,  my  true  child."  When  such  a  strong 
man  as  Paul,  such  a  true  man  as  Paul,  could  have 
such  perfect  confidence  in  his  young  friend  that 
he  is  led  to  call  him  ''My  true  child,"  for  one 
I  feel  as  if  I  had  known  and  loved  Titus  myself ; 
for  that  one  expression,  "My  true  child,"  means 
as  much  to  me  as  if  I  had  the  life  of  Titus  written 
out  in  full,  in  two  or  three  volumes. 

[67] 


It  is  wonderful  how  a  great  artist  can  some- 
times sketch  a  human  face  in  just  three  or  four 
strokes  of  his  pencil.   You  can  see  the  character 
that  is  in  and  behind  that  face.  You  can  imagine 
a  whole  life  story  for  that  face,  how  it  will  bear 
responsibility,  how  it  will  judge  others,  how  it 
will  endure  pain  and  sorrow.    Yet  when  you 
come  to  study  the  sketch  you  find  there  are  not 
more  than  three  or  four  strokes  of  the  pencil  in  it. 
It  is  wonderful,  too,  how  sometimes  the  depth 
and  height  and  breadth  of  a  whole  life  looks  out 
upon  us  through  the  little  windows  of  the  eyes. 
I  have  heard  of  a  game  in  which  you  tell  the 
names  of  people  by  seeing  only  their  eyes.    A 
number  of  your  friends  are  concealed  behind  a 
screen,  in  which  holes  are  cut,  only  large  enough 
to  show  the  eyes;  and  you  are  required,  when 
seeing  only  the  eyes,  to  tell  to  whom  those  eyes 
belong.   It  can  often  be  done,  for  so  much  of  a 
life  shows  itself  at  the  windows  of  the  eyes.  Some- 
times you  look  into  eyes  that  waver  and  wink 
and  wander  and  never  fairly  meet  you.     And 
sometimes  you  look  into  eyes  that  answer  with 
a  clear,  steadfast,  sincere,  noble  look,  in  which 
you  read  not  only  the  depth,  but  the  truth  of 
character.   So  this  one  short  expression  in  Paul's 

[68] 


letter,  **To  Titus,  my  true  child,"  is  like  the 
speaking  likeness  drawn  with  four  strokes  of  the 
pencil,  or  like  the  nobleness  of  a  whole  life  re- 
vealed through  one  look  of  noble  eyes,  —  it  cre- 
ates before  the  mind  a  life  picture  of  strength  and 
beauty. 

As  I  have  drawn  nearer  and  nearer  to  this  spe- 
cial service,  these  words,  '*My  true  child,"  have 
seemed  to  stand  out  and  impress  themselves  upon 
my  mind,  as  in  some  way  carrying  a  message  both 
of  human  love  and  of  Christ's  love,  which  some 
of  you  would  be  glad  to  hear. 

I  wish  first  to  speak  of  these  words  as  carrying 
the  message  of  human  love  from  the  older  to  the 
younger  friend.  What  a  comfort  it  must  have 
been  to  Paul,  with  all  the  cares  and  labors  of 
his  busy  life,  to  feel  that  he  could  trust  Titus, 
be  sure  of  him  under  all  circumstances,  and 
think  of  him  with  that  absolutely  restful  and 
abiding  confidence  implied  in  these  words,  "My 
true  child."  We  are  not  told  how  it  was  he  came 
to  have  that  perfect  trust  in  Titus ;  how  he  had 
measured  him  by  the  strain  of  absence,  and  found 
him  true ;  how  he  had  tested  him  in  the  time  of 
temptation,  and  found  him  true  as  gold ;  how  he 
had  weighed  him  in  the  balance  of  responsible 

[  69  ] 


duty,  and  never  found  him  wanting ;  how  he  had 
looked  away  down  into  the  depths  of  his  life, 
and  found  that  the  soundness  and  sweetness  and 
earnestness  of  his  nature  was  not  just  a  mere  show 
on  the  surface,  but  that  it  went  down  and  down 
and  down  into  all  the  depths  of  thought  and  pur- 
pose. We  are  not,  I  say,  told  about  this ;  but  we 
may  be  sure  Paul  had  tested  Titus,  had  watched 
him  in  times  of  difficulty,  had  studied  the  inner 
depths  of  his  character,  had  found  him  pure  gold 
away  down  to  the  bottom  of  his  life.  And  al- 
though neither  you  nor  I  ever  saw  Titus,  or  a 
picture  of  him,  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  even 
in  his  boyhood  there  must  have  been  that  clear 
look  on  his  face,  and  that  steady  brightness  in  his 
eyes,  which  showed  that  he  had  a  sincere  soul  — 
that  he  was  at  least  a  true  child,  whatever  may 
have  been  his  share  of  the  faults  and  follies  of 
boyhood.  And  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  as  he 
grew  up  to  manhood  he  carried  with  him  that 
truth  of  boyhood  shining  in  his  face :  he  did  not 
destroy  it  by  the  dissipation  and  evil-doings  of 
youth ;  he  did  not  lose  the  noble  innocence  of  the 
child  life,  and  grow  hard  and  ill-looking  in  the 
countenance  of  his  manhood.  And  so,  long  after 
he  has  become  a  man,  with  a  man's  knowledge 

[70] 


and  a  man's  cares,  to  Paul  he  is  still  "My  true 
child." 

If  I,  being  older,  were  given  the  power  of  be- 
stowing upon  some  young  life  that  I  dearly  loved, 
and  for  which  I  desired  the  best  things,  one  gift, 
and  only  one  gift,  it  would  not  take  me  long  to 
choose  the  gift.  I  would  not  make  it  to  be  a 
beautiful  child,  or  a  brilliant  child,  or  a  popular 
child  (not  that  such  things  are  to  be  under- 
valued), but  I  would  make  it  to  be  a  trv£  child. 
If  I  had  but  one  gift  to  make,  it  would  be  that. 
For  if  that  gift  is  given,  the  child's  life  is  rich, 
whatever  else  it  lacks ;  and  if  that  gift  is  lacking, 
the  child's  life  is  poor  and  incomplete,  whatever 
else  in  the  world  it  may  have. 

I  do  not  believe  many  people  are  more  intensely 
interested  than  I  in  studying  and  measuring  the 
lives  and  gifts  of  children,  or  that  many  people 
are  more  keenly  appreciative  than  I  toward  all 
that  is  brilliant  and  beautiful  in  childhood  and 
youth.  But  I  do  assure  you  that  the  most  beau- 
tiful face  I  ever  saw,  the  most  brilliant  talents 
I  ever  detected  showing  on  the  young  life  like 
blossoms  on  the  young  apple-trees  in  May  or 
June,  the  most  remarkable  gifts  at  winning  pop- 
ularity and  working  toward  the  front,  —  I  do 

[  71  ] 


assure  you  these  fine  things  all  turn  in  my  mind 
to  the  bitterest  kind  of  sadness,  if  I  have  reason 
to  think,  by  the  wavering  eyes,  or  by  the  curves 
of  the  mouth,  or  by  the  tones  of  the  voice  and 
the  way  of  speaking,  that  that  is  not  a  true  child. 
There  have  been  times  when,  going  about  in  the 
world,  and  seeing  a  great  many  people,  I  have 
felt  a  shudder  go  through  me  in  the  presence  of  a 
child  or  youth  that  I  knew  to  be  tmtrue :  a  double 
nature,  a  deceitful  nature;  a  nature  that,  if  you 
tried  to  lean  on  it,  would  slip  out  from  under 
you,  and  let  you  fall.  And  while  I  believe  that 
Jesus,  by  the  almighty  power  of  His  Spirit,  can 
change  any  nature  and  thoroughly  renew  it, 
even  the  most  unlovely,  so  that  it  shall  no  longer 
be  like  its  former  self,  and  although  the  loveliest 
and  truest  nature  must  likewise  be  renewed  by 
Christ  before  it  can  know  the  glad  meaning  of 
spiritual  life,  yet,  however  much  I  may  hope  for 
that  change,  I  cannot  keep  back  the  sadness  when 
I  see  a  child  that,  with  other  natural  gifts  which 
are  attractive  and  rich,  lacks  that  one  mysterious 
quality  which  constitutes  a  true  child. 

How  can  I  describe  to  you  what  I  mean  by 
true?  Best,  perhaps,  by  telling  you  this  lit- 
tle parable.    Once  a  prince  went  to  Switzerland 

[72] 


to  climb  the  ice-mountains.  The  ice-mountains, 
you  know,  are  very  steep  and  terrible  near  the 
tops.  There  are  smooth  slopes  of  ice  where  no- 
thing will  save  you  but  to  strike  the  sharp  iron 
point  of  your  staff  into  the  ice,  and  then  bear 
your  whole  weight  on  the  staff.  And  there  is  now 
and  then  a  crevasse  where  your  only  chance  for 
crossing  is  to  plant  your  staff  and  take  a  flying 
leap  on  it.  The  prince  wanted  a  staff.  And,  be- 
cause he  was  a  prince  they  brought  him  the  finest 
staves  that  could  be  found.  The  first  one  was 
bound  with  gold,  and  had  a  rich  hand-piece  of 
gold  repousse.  The  prince  looked  at  it  and 
threw  it  down.  "See  you  not,"  said  he,  ''that 
flaw  in  the  wood  just  where  the  gold  hand-piece 
joins  the  staff  .^  If  I  were  on  some  ice-slope  of 
the  mountain,  and  threw  my  weight  on  the  staff, 
it  would  snap  under  my  very  hand."  The  next 
staff  they  brought  him  was  splendidly  carved 
along  its  stem  with  flowers  and  fruits.  He  looked 
at  it  and  flung  it  down  by  the  other.  "See  you 
not,"  said  he,  "the  staff  itself  has  no  strength 
beneath  these  carvings  ?  Were  I  to  be  leaping 
some  crevasse  on  yonder  glacier,  this  deceitful 
staff  would  shiver  under  me."  And  he  turned 
from  the  fine  staves  and  picked  for  himself  one 

[73] 


Cl^e  ^H\)tt  Cup 

with  no  gold  or  carving,  but  with  a  fibre  that  had 
no  flaw,  sturdy  and  sincere,  that  could  bear  a 
man's  weight  in  the  moment  of  sudden  danger. 
*'  Give  me  this,"  said  he ;  "it  is  nobler  than  them 
all,  for  it  is  true ;  it  will  do  what  a  staff  should 
do." 

What  made  that  staff  true  is  what  makes  a 
child  true.  The  true  child  has  a  nature  you  can 
depend  on.  It  may  or  it  may  not  have  great 
outward  beauty,  like  that  staff  with  the  gold 
repousse  hand-piece;  it  may  or  it  may  not  have 
wonderful  accomplishments  and  marks  of  skill, 
like  the  staff  that  was  carved  with  flowers  and 
fruits;  but,  at  least,  the  flaw  of  untruth  is  not 
lurking  under  the  beauty,  and  the  weakness  of 
a  fickle,  uncertain,  deceitful  spirit  is  not  hiding 
under  the  fine  accomplishments.  It  is  a  sincere 
nature;  a  sweet,  honest,  true  nature;  a  staying 
nature;  a  staff  nature,  on  which  whoever  has 
the  blessed  privilege  to  lean  will  find  that  when 
the  strain  is  greatest,  and  the  danger  nearest, 
the  trueness  of  that  nature  is  most  realized.  A 
child,  of  whom,  alas!  we  cannot  use  the  word 
true  is  always  selfish,  thinks  the  world  was 
principally  made  for  its  convenience,  is  a  fault- 
finder, discontented,  often  sullen  with  murmur- 

[74] 


ings,  sometimes  jealous.  But  the  nature  to  which 
we  can  apply  that  sweetest,  noblest  word,  true, 
has  (you  will  almost  always  find)  caught  hold  of 
that  great  truth  which  the  staff  teaches,  —  the 
truth  that  life  is  given  us  that  we  may  be  strong 
and  sure  for  those  who  lean  upon  us.  The  true 
child  is  a  helper  —  a  staff  to  some  older  life, 
which,  as  it  climbs  the  icy  slope  of  life's  moun- 
tain side,  and  as  it  leaps  the  awful  chasms  of  life's 
breaks  and  losses,  would  itself  be  cast  away  and 
broken,  but  for  the  staying  strength,  the  pure 
strong  truth,  of  some  younger,  braver  heart. 
Not  one  hour  before  your  time  would  I  put  upon 
you,  children  and  youth,  the  cares  and  crosses 
which  belong  to  later  life,  and  which  we  must  all 
bear  in  due  season ;  but  which  of  you,  —  which 
of  you,  —  my  true  children,  has  had  a  less  happy, 
less  glorious  childhood  because  so  early  to  you 
God  sent  the  thought  that  you,  even  you,  children 
that  you  are,  may  help  older  arms  to  be  strong, 
and  may  teach  older  hearts  to  be  brave. 

Now  I  am  not  going  to  stop  here.  I  could 
not  if  I  would  —  I  would  not  if  I  could  —  stop 
when  I  have  spoken  only  of  the  human  love  that 
depends  upon  you,  and  that  believes  —  oh,  how 
it  has  believed! — that  you  are  true.  Nor  do  I 

[75] 


Cl^e  ^imt  Cup 

think  you  would  want  me  to  stop  here,  and  say 
nothing  about  a  higher  love  of  a  greater  Friend, 
who  also  leans  upon  you,  who  depends  on  you  to 
be  true  to  Him.  You  want  me  (oh !  tell  me  truly, 
do  you  not  want  me  ?)  to  talk  with  you  of  Him, 
whose  Name  I  need  not  mention,  for  you  know 
it  well.  He  is  true  to  you,  dear  child.  He  is  true 
to  you !  Others  change,  but  He  does  not.  It  may 
be  some  of  you  have  found  out  that  hardest  of  all 
things  to  be  reconciled  to,  that  earthly  friends 
may  change;  they  may  tire  of  us,  they  may  grow 
away  from  us;  they  may  change  without  mean- 
ing to  change.  But  He  is  "Faithful  and  True." 
In  the  Bible  we  are  told  that  that  is  one  of  His 
many  names.  Faithful  and  True.  How  beauti- 
ful a  name,  and  how  worthy  He  to  bear  it.  For 

—  let  me  whisper  it  in  your  very  soul  —  He  is 
still  Faithful  and  True  to  you  even  if  you  have 
changed  toward  Him.  Have  you  ever  changed 
toward  Him  ?  Have  you  ever  been  different  from 
what  you  once  hoped  to  be  when  you  most  felt 
His  influence  ?  Have  there  been  times  of  passion, 
times  of  bitterness,  times  of  open  or  unseen  sin, 

—  unseen  by  human  friends  but  not  unseen  by 
Him  —  times  when  such  was  your  life,  and  such 
were  the  thoughts  which  had  gained  possession 

[76] 


of  your  heart,  it  would  be  impossible,  simply 
impossible,  for  Him  to  say  of  you:  **My  true 
child?"  This  has  not  changed  Him  —  not  for 
one  hour  —  not  for  one  moment.  He  is  always 
worthy  of  His  Name,  ''Faithful  and  True." 

What  answer  is  in  your  heart,  to  give  to  Him 
who  is  faithful  and  true  ?  Is  it  your  wish  to  enter 
into  such  a  way  of  living,  to  be  so  strong  in  bear- 
ing whatever  charge  He  may  lay  upon  you,  that 
He  who  is  faithful  and  true  shall  see  that  you 
are  copying  Him  and  growing  like  Him,  and  He 
shall  think  of  you  as  His  true  child  ?  I  think,  I 
know  this  is  for  some  of  you  your  deepest  wish ; 
some  of  you  have  set  your  hearts  to  be  true  chil- 
dren of  Jesus  Christ.  You  have  many  pleasures, 
but  they  have  not  turned  your  heads  or  won  your 
hearts  away  from  that  hope  of  hopes,  to  be  true 
to  our  best  and  kindest  Friend.  Under  the  bright 
pleasures,  I  know  something  of  your  deeper  life. 
And  do  I  not  know  what  deep,  deep  truths  have 
come  to  you  this  winter  in  unexpected  ways. 
Have  not  some  of  you  had  sickness  and  pain, 
and  some  of  you  loneliness  and  absence,  which 
have  opened  to  you  the  deep  things  of  life,  and 
brought  you  very  near  to  Christ .?  I  know  you 
have.    Have  not  some  of  you  learned  that  He 

[77] 


who  is  faithful  and  true  sometimes  calls  a  **true 
child"  home  to  Himself  while  she  is  yet  a  child  ? 

Ah,  yes !  Nothing  else  will  satisfy  some  of  you. 
You  have  tasted  of  that  life  which  is  life  indeed, 
and  now  you  cannot  do  without  it.  You  cannot 
go  back  and  cease  to  wish  to  be  a  true  child. 
You  know  that  this  is  the  greatest  thing  that  ever 
came  to  you.  If  at  times  you  have  forgotten  it, 
and  dropped  away  into  the  old  selfish  life,  you 
have  waked  up  ashamed  —  ashamed  —  and  bit- 
terly sorry ;  but  you  have  not  thought  of  taking 
back  what  you  gave  to  Christ.  What  did  you 
give.^  You  gave  yourself.  You  put  yourself  in 
His  hands.  Who  could  make  you  willing  to  take 
yourself  back,  to  be  never,  never  again  —  here  or 
hereafter  —  a  true  child  ? 

Why  should  not  each  and  every  one  of  you 
be  His  true  child  ?  Why  have  some  of  you  not 
come  to  Him  ?  Where  does  the  trouble  lie  ?  Not 
on  His  side,  I  am  sure.  He  has  opened  the  way; 
He  is  faithful  and  true  in  His  love  to  the  children 
that  have  never  been  true  to  Him.  The  trouble  is 
not  on  His  side.  Where,  then,  can  it  be  ?  Is  it  on 
your  side  ?  Is  it  that  you  will  not  just  go,  and 
give  up  to  Him,  and  be  true  ?  Is  the  trouble 
there  ?   If  so,  why  should  it  not  be  swept  away  ? 

[78] 


Will  you  think  this  over,  praying  while  you 
think  ?  Why  should  you  not  let  Christ  take  you, 
and  hold  you,  as  if  one  who  loved  you  more  than 
all  the  world  were  to  put  arms  of  faithfulness 
around'  you,  and  the  kiss  of  peace  upon  your 
forehead,  and  whisper  to  your  soul:  M.y  true 
Child?   Amen. 


f  n  (§xun  pastures 

"  l^e  Uattzti)  me  —  in  nreen  jjajsture^  " 
,      Psalm  23  :  2 

You  see  I  have  changed  the  parts  of  this  verse 
about,  and  have  joined  the  words  of  the  last  half, 
**He  leadeth  me,"  to  the  words  of  the  first  half, 
**in  green  pastures."  I  am  sure  it  is  not  wrong 
for  me  to  do  this,  because  I  do  not  change  in  any 
way  the  teaching  of  God's  word.  I  merely  do  it 
because  the  two  parts  thus  joined  put  before  our 
minds  such  a  very  beautiful  thought:  "A  walk 
in  the  country  with  God."  It  is  this  thought 
which  I  have  chosen  as  my  subject  for  this  after- 
noon's sermon ;  and  I  believe,  if  you  are  as  willing 
to  listen  as  I  am  eager  to  speak,  we  shall  be  able 
to  get  something  out  of  this  thought  which  we 
shall  not  only  remember  in  the  summer  days,  but 
which  will  be  worth  remembering. 

I  do  not  need  to  explain  why  I  have  put  to- 
gether the  beautiful  words  which  make  us  a  text 
for  to-day,  "He  leadeth  me  in  green  pastures," 
nor  why  I  have  taken  this  subject,  "A  walk  in 
the  country  with  God." 

[80] 


gin  (Bvtm  pa&tuvt^ 

It  is  June.  The  great  high  doors  of  the  sum- 
mer are  opening,  and  we  are  standing,  as  in  the 
gateway  of  a  royal  park,  looking  in  upon  the 
beauty  that  spreads,  and  rolls  away,  and  rises  up 
and  waves  on  every  hand.  Is  it  not  wonderful  ? 
There,  melting  away,  one  behind  the  other,  in 
soft  rounded  shoulders  of  velvet,  are  the  green 
pastures,  and  over  them  are  swinging  softer 
shadows  from  the  snow-fleeces  of  summer  clouds. 
There,  shot  with  the  shimmer  of  a  million  sun- 
beams, or  framed  in  the  blooms  of  iris  and  lilies, 
are  the  still  waters.  There,  heaped  in  wavy 
masses  on  the  summer  air  and  twinkling  in  the 
gentle  wind  are  the  groves  and  copses  of  oak  and 
maple  and  spruce  and  sumac.  There,  mounding 
the  sides  of  quiet  lanes,  and  hiding  the  channels 
of  meadow-brooks  are  thickets  of  vines  and  wild 
flowers.  There,  toned  by  the  south  wind  to  violet 
and  melting  greens,  or  deepened  by  the  north 
wind  to  bright,  gladdening  blue,  studded  with 
pure  white  sails  and  fringed  with  arches  of  surf, 
is  the  marvelous  ocean.  There,  sleeping  in  the 
sunlight  and  furrowed  with  cool  shadows  are  the 
strong  and  silent  mountains.  What  is  this  on 
which  we  are  looking  ?  This  is  the  country ;  this 
is  God's  great  path,  of  woodland  and  upland, 

[81  ] 


Ci^e  Oilier  €np 

with  a  thousand  hills,  on  which  the  cattle  feed, 
and  a  million  leagues  of  sea  where  the  free  gulls 

fly- 

To  how  many  of  you  it  will  probably  be  given 
soon  to  take  a  walk  in  the  country.  Many  of 
our  dear  companions  are  there  already,  walking 
joyously.  Many  who  are  here  to-day  are  plan- 
ning to  go  and  live  for  weeks  and  weeks  in  God's 
great  park,  the  country.  And  I  do  not  think  there 
is  one  child  now  in  the  church  who  will  not  have 
at  least  a  few  days  in  the  country;  and  perhaps 
some  of  those  who  can  have  only  the  few  days  may 
gain  more  in  their  hearts  than  those  who  have 
many,  because  every  hour  of  every  day  will  be 
so  richly  valued.  And  as  I  have  thought  of  this 
service  coming  so  soon  before  your  departure  I 
have  asked :  Will  not  God  help  me  to  speak  some 
words  which  shall  sink  into  the  hearts  of  children 
like  precious  seed,  and  which  through  the  rich 
summer  months  will  grow  and  bear  fruit  many- 
fold,  to  the  glory  of  God.^  Will  He  not  give  us 
such  thoughts  about  Himself,  such  confidence, 
such  worship  toward  Him,  that  as  we  go  forth 
into  the  glorious  park  which  He  has  made  ready 
for  us,  we  may  not  hide  ourselves  from  Him 
among  the  trees  of  that  great  Garden,  but  rather 
[82] 


9In  (5vtm  pa^trnt^ 

may  seek  Him  among  those  trees,  and  find  Him 
amid  the  hills,  and  commune  with  Him  on  the 
'*  everlasting  shore,"  and  walk  many  a  time  in 
the  green  pastures  with  the  glad  feeling  that  He 
is  leading  us. 

I  am  simply  saying  to  you  just  what  is  in  my 
heart  when  I  say  that,  to  me,  the  privilege  of 
going  into  the  country  is  one  of  the  most  sacred 
things  that  come  into  my  life  year  by  year.  I 
look  upon  it  as  something  so  great  and  high.  One 
may  well  look  forward  to  it  a  long  time  before- 
hand, and  prepare  himself  for  it,  and  count  with 
delight  the  days  that  are  allotted  him  to  spend 
in  God's  great  park.  Why  do  I  feel  so  ?  I  feel 
so  for  several  reasons.  Undoubtedly  one  reason 
why  I  feel  so  is  because  I  realize  how  many  who 
would  love  to  go,  and  who  are  just  as  ready  as 
myself  to  value  the  privilege,  cannot  go.  Many 
are  too  poor  to  go.  This  blessed  thing  is  quite  out 
of  their  reach,  and  unless  the  kindness  of  others 
opens  a  way,  many  thousands  of  persons  in  this 
city  will  not  have  one  hour  of  country  life  this 
summer.  Many  will  stay  at  home  to  provide  the 
means  by  which  others  may  go  —  working  on 
through  all  the  coming  weeks,  so  patiently  and 
unselfishly,  and  getting  only  short  glimpses  into 

[83] 


God's  great  park,  often  when  they  are  too  tired 
fully  to  enjoy  what  they  see.  Not  a  few  in  this 
city  are  too  sick  to  go.  They  cannot  be  moved. 
They  must  lie  here  among  the  houses,  and  suffer, 
whilst  we  not  only  do  not  suffer,  but  can  use  our 
good  health  in  roaming  over  the  hills.  I  cannot 
forget  this  thought  about  the  many  who  cannot 
go.  It  makes  it  seem  to  me  such  a  sacred  thing, 
such  a  sweet  and  high  responsibility  (as  I  have 
said  to  you  before)  to  be  permitted  to  go. 

But  this  is  not  the  only  reason  why  the  thought 
of  living  for  a  few  days  or  weeks  in  God's  great 
park  looks  to  me  as  so  sacred  a  thing.  There  is 
another  reason.  And  I  am  going  to  try  and  ex- 
plain this  other  reason  to  you.  It  is  one  which 
does  not  interfere  with  or  prevent  those  merry 
and  innocent  country  pleasures  to  which,  I  well 
know,  so  many  of  you  are  happily  looking  for- 
ward. What  a  place  for  innocent  pleasures  the 
country  is !  To  a  happy  and  innocent  heart  what 
an  endless  variety  of  joyous  sports,  of  charming 
occupations  is  offered  in  the  mountains  and  by 
the  sea!  You  feel  so  strong,  so  rested,  so  free 
from  care,  so  able  to  do.  And  there  is  such  a 
wealth  of  things  to  do.  It  makes  me  wonder  when 
people  say  there  is  nothing  to  do  in  the  country. 
[84] 


3!n  (Bum  pactum 

I  feel  so  sorry  because  they  have  not  found  out 
how  much  more  there  is  to  do  than  anybody  can 
do.  The  farther  I  go  into  the  country,  the  farther 
I  wander  from  the  beaten  roads,  the  more  I  find 
of  delightful  things  to  do. 

But  I  think  I  know  a  good  many  of  you  well 
enough  to  say  that  you  cannot  play  all  the  time, 
any  more  than  I  can.  There  is  a  point  up  to 
which  you  healthfully  enjoy  amusement,  beyond 
which  you  simply  do  not  want  to  be  amused. 
You  want  something  greater  than  to  be  amused. 
Why  is  this  ?  It  is  because  you  have  something 
great  and  noble  in  you,  which  is  fitted  to  receive 
something  greater,  and  which  can  be  satisfied 
only  by  something  greater  than  even  the  most 
beautiful  and  innocent  amusements  and  sports. 
Children  dear,  how  I  honor,  how  I  reverence  that 
greater  something  in  you  which  does  not  want  to 
be  amused,  because  it  wants  a  better  thing  than 
amusement.  I  rejoice  in  that  merry  part  of  you 
which  healthfully  wants  to  be  amused,  but  when 
I  see  that  greater  something  shining  in  your  eyes, 
and  making  your  faces  so  earnest  and  so  strong ; 
when  I  hear  that  greater  something  speaking 
in  certain  tones  of  your  voice,  I  reverence  you, 
I  delight  in  you  —  you  children  of  God.  For  that 

[85] 


Ci^e  ^ilUv  Cup 

is  it :  you  are  children  of  God,  and  the  glory  of 
His  dear  Son  is  beginning  to  be  revealed  in  you ; 
and  the  power  of  His  Spirit  is  overshadowing 
you,  and  it  is  that  which  makes  you  too  great  to 
be  satisfied  at  all  times  with  what  merely  amuses, 
however  innocent  that  amusement  is  —  it  is  that 
which,  whether  you  are  in  town  or  in  the  country, 
gives  you  now  and  then  hours  of  swelling,  soaring 
thoughts  — 

Higher  than  the  heights  above, 
Deeper  than  the  depths  beneath. 

Now,  if  you  understand  me  —  and  I  do  not 
doubt  many  of  you  understand  me  —  you  will 
understand  the  special  reason  why  (as  I  said  a 
few  moments  since)  the  privilege  of  going  into 
the  country  is  one  of  the  most  sacred  things  that 
come  into  my  life  year  by  year.  The  reason  is 
this :  In  the  country  God  gives  us  special  oppor- 
tunities to  walk  alone  with  Him.  A  walk  in  the 
country  alone  with  God !  If  any  one  loves  God, 
and  wants  to  learn  more  of  God,  and  wants  to 
have  one's  life  open  out  toward  and  correspond 
with  the  measures  of  the  things  of  God,  what  is 
more  grand,  what  answers  better  to  the  swelling 
thoughts  within  us,  than  this  privilege  of  being 
out  in  God's  great  park,  and  of  walking  there 
[86] 


among  the  trees  with  Him,  through  the  voices  of 
His  own  works,  and  letting  our  brains  grow  clear 
and  our  hearts  grow  calm,  and  our  thoughts  grow 
pure  and  broad,  and  our  fountains  of  holy  de- 
sire fill  up  afresh,  by  taking  now  and  then  such 
a  silent,  thoughtful,  wondering  walk  up  some 
mountain-side,  or  over  the  green  pastures,  or 
by  the  sea's  very  edge  when  the  tide  is  out  and 
the  shining  sand  is  hard  and  firm  like  a  floor  of 
marble. 

I  do  not  need  to  remind  you  that  we  can  walk 
with  God  every  day  of  our  lives,  and  in  the  city  as 
truly  as  in  the  country.  This  you  know  as  well 
as  I,  and  need  not  to  be  told  how  wondrous  and 
how  precious  are  those  walks  with  God  when  we 
are  hurrying  through  our  city  life,  so  busy,  so 
full  of  engagements,  so  troubled  and  anxious 
perhaps  about  our  studies,  or  some  other  work. 
Then  we  have  walked  with  God ;  and  some  of  us 
have  walked  with  Him  into  the  places  of  pain  and 
sickness  and  death,  and  have  felt  even  in  such 
places  how  very  near  He  is  and  what  power  He 
has  to  strengthen  our  weak  and  frightened  spirits. 
But  there  are  times  when  everybody  needs  to  get 
away  from  the  crowds  of  people  and  the  noise  of 
town,  and  to  start  out  into  God's  park,  to  walk 

[87] 


alone  with  Him,  to  be  led,  by  Him,  in  the  green 
pastures.  There  are  times  when  every  thoughtful 
heart  feels  the  need  (and  as  it  grows  older  it 
understands  better  that  feeling  of  need),  the 
need  of  getting  away  off  in  stillness  with  God, 
there  to  have  His  gentle  hand  laid  upon  our  im- 
patient, restless  lives,  to  smooth  out  the  tangles, 
to  cleanse  away  the  wrong,  to  widen  out  the 
narrowness,  to  set  up  the  high  things  that  were 
beaten  down,  to  make  us  right  again,  in  all  our 
motives,  life  thoughts,  and  desires.  And  although 
I  can  truly  say  I  believe  that  I  have  walked  with 
God  in  the  city,  through  its  busy,  crowded  days 
and  weeks,  I  find  myself  sometimes  in  midwinter 
longing  for  one  of  those  long,  still,  far-away 
days  in  the  country  when  I  have  gone  out  in  the 
green  pastures  to  think  and  think  of  the  Great 
Presence:  I  find  myself  in  the  midwinter  hurry 
saying  over  with  special  meaning,  those  grand 
words  of  spiritual  desire :  — 

O  for  a  closer  walk  with  God, 
A  calm  and  heavenly  frame! 

Now  it  seems  to  me  that  no  one  who  has  been 

brought  by  God's  Spirit  to  love  and  desire  the 

things  of  God,  and  to  whom,  as  to  so  many  of  us, 

[88] 


9In  (Breen  pmwt^ 

the  blessed  privilege  is  given  of  spending  more 
or  less  time  away  from  our  city  homes  and  our 
,  city  work,  —  no  one  ought  to  lose  that  great 
influence  which  is  a  thing  by  itself,  unlike  all  the 
influences  that  come  to  us  here,  that  great  in- 
fluence of  a  walk  in  the  country  alone  with  God, 
to  be  led,  by  Him,  in  the  green  pastures. 

I  am  naturally  quite  familiar  with  the  life 
which  many  of  you  children  and  youth  lead  for 
nine  months  of  the  year.  It  is  a  life  full  of  the 
greatest  advantages  your  loving  parents  and 
guardians  can  give  you.  It  is  in  many  respects  a 
very  complete  life.  And  it  is  a  very  busy  life; 
busy  not  perhaps  in  the  sense  that  you  are  work- 
ing so  toilsomely,  but  in  the  sense  that  your  life 
is  full  of  people  and  full  of  incidents.  Things 
crowd  upon  you  closely,  and  come  to  you  and 
pass  on  from  you  in  immensely  rapid  succession. 
Your  days  are  very  full ;  sometimes,  for  some  of 
you,  they  seem  to  me  decidedly  too  full.  This 
full  life  has  great  advantages;  it  has  also  some 
disadvantages.  One  of  the  latter  is  you  have  far 
too  little  time  to  be  alone  with  God,  that  you  may 
know  Him,  and  may  yield  yourselves  up  seriously 
and  intentionally  to  His  influence.  And  you 
cannot   deprive   yourselves   of   God's   influence 

[89] 


Cl^e  ^iVotv  Cup 

without  feeling  the  loss  and  paying  for  it.  You 
pay  for  it  when  you  feel  that  life  is  tangled ;  that 
prayer  has  lost  its  charm  and  its  power ;  that . 
motives  are  twisted  out  of  line;  that  insincerity, 
or  bitterness,  or  narrow,  petty  selfishness  has  taken 
hold  upon  you ;  that  you  have  somehow  got,  like  a 
violin,  out  of  tune.  A  violin  goes  out  of  tune  when 
the  strings  work  themselves  a  little  loose,  and  to 
bring  back  the  violin  to  its  right  voice,  the  voice 
which  answers  to  the  great  instrument,  the  organ 
or  the  piano  beside  which  it  is  to  be  played,  you 
have  to  key  up  those  strings  again.  Sometimes 
our  life  being  so  much  played  upon  by  many 
hands  during  the  winter  works  itself  a  little  loose 
in  its  bearings,  and  the  strings  on  which  we  think 
and  speak  are  out  of  key  with  the  mighty  organ 
of  God's  truth.  We  are  out  of  tune  with  the 
divine,  the  everlasting  truth  and  right,  and  we 
need  to  be  "keyed  up"  till  once  more  we  keep  the 
pitch  which  sounds  forever  in  the  truth  and  the 
works  of  God.  And  what  will  bring  one  back  and 
key  one  up  to  the  tone  of  God,  like  a  walk  in  the 
country  with  God,  —  going  out  into  the  green 
pastures,  and  beside  the  still  waters,  with  God  to 
lead  you,  and  God  to  be  the  companion  of  your 
thoughts  ? 

[90] 


9In  (0reen  pamm 

Every  summer  is  sure  to  bring  with  it  its  pro- 
portion of  glorious,  golden  days ;  when  the  earth 
looks  as  if  it  had  just  come  freshly  down  out  of 
heaven,  and  the  sky  grows  toward  sunset  like  the 
sea  of  glass  mingled  with  fire,  — 

When  we  hear  the  wind  among  the  trees 
Playing  celestial  symphonies, 
And  see  the  branches  downward  bent 
Like  keys  of  some  great  instrument. 

Such  days  have  come  in  all  the  summers  of  the 
past,  and  such,  we  need  not  doubt,  will  also  come 
in  the  summer  whose  ''beautiful  gate"  is  even 
now  opening.  There  will  sometimes  be  such  days 
of  inconceivable  calmness  and  delight,  and  there 
will  be  some  of  you  in  whom  that  greater  some- 
thing of  which  I  have  already  spoken  will  make 
itself  felt  within  you,  in  ways  that  cannot  be 
entirely  satisfied  by  the  merry  sports  going  on 
around  you ;  that  greater  something  will  whisper 
to  you  that  God  has  a  message  for  you,  which  He 
would  speak  in  the  beauty  of  the  summer  day; 
that  God  would  lead  you  out  for  a  walk  in  the 
green  pastures  and  beside  the  still  waters,  to 
restore  your  soul  and  to  lead  you  in  the  path  of 
righteousness  for  His  Name's  sake.  I  hope  you 

[91  ] 


Cl^e  ^ilUv  Cup 

will  go ;  I  hope  I  shall  go,  this  summer,  whenever 
that  greater  something  within  me,  let  me  rather 
say  that  greater  Some  One  within  me  (for  He  is 
the  Holy  Ghost)  gives  me  God's  invitation  for  a 
walk  in  the  green  pastures.  Have  a  small  Testa- 
ment, that  you  can  readily  carry  (I  always  take 
my  Greek  Testament;  it  is  an  inseparable  sum- 
mer companion)  and  then  go  quietly  off  in  the 
quiet  day  and  let  God  lead  you  in  the  green  pas- 
tures. Perhaps  when  all  the  fields  are  dry  and 
wholesome  you  may  be  led  to  some  breezy  spot, 
half  shade,  half  sunshine,  where  you  can  stretch 
yourself  on  the  dry  grass,  and  say:  "He  maketh 
me  to  lie  down  in  green  pastures."  You  can  lie 
so  low  that  all  the  scenery  of  earth  will  be  out 
of  sight,  except  the  grasses  and  daisies  around 
you,  which  with  their  trembling  tops  will  make 
your  sky  line;  and  you  can  look  Up  and  up  and 
up,  while  — 

Over  you  unrolls  on  high 

The  splendid  scenery  of  the  sky. 

Shall  I  tell  you,  as  I  close  this  talk  about  the 
country  walk  with  God,  how  He  has  sometimes 
spoken  to  me  when  He  has  led  me  in  green  pas- 
tures and  made  me  to  lie  down  there  ?  He  has 
spoken  to  me  through  space  and  through  still- 
[92] 


3In  mtm  ^ajsturejs 

ness.  We  know  very  little  about  space  in  the 
city.  Our  houses  are  packed  close  together ;  the 
wagons  in  the  street  are  packed  together  so  some- 
times it  is  hard  to  escape  being  run  over ;  people 
are  packed  together  in  schools  and  stores  and 
crowded  cars;  days  are  packed  together  till  a 
whole  week  seems  scarcely  wider  than  one  sum- 
mer day;  duties  and  amusements  and  incon- 
veniences and  appointments  are  packed  together ; 
and  I  say  we  know  very  little  about  space  in  the 
city.  And  alas !  the  crowding  sometimes  crowds 
out  that  wide  thought,  *'the  fullness  of  Him  that 
filleth  all  in  all,"  and  "the  wideness  of  God's 
mercy,  like  the  wideness  of  the  sea,"  and  little, 
narrow  selfishnesses  come  and  block  up  the 
avenues  of  our  souls.  Oh !  to  be  keyed  up  again 
to  the  wideness  of  God,  in  thought,  in  love,  in 
patience,  in  faith;  till  our  love  arches  up  once 
more  like  the  vault  of  the  sky,  and  our  faith 
soars  like  yonder  bird  flying  between  the  clouds. 
And  God  has  spoken  to  me,  in  the  country 
walk,  through  stillness.  Did  you  ever  think  that 
while  there  is  so  much  stillness  in  the  country, 
there  is  hardly  any  silence.?  Sometimes  in  the 
dead  of  night  in  town  we  get  silence,  the  entire 
absence  of  sound  —  no  footfall  on  the  pavement, 

[93] 


Cl^e  ^imt  Cup 

no  rumble  of  wheels,  no  whistle  from  the  passing 
boat  —  dead  silence.  But  you  almost  never  get 
dead  silence  in  the  country :  the  stillness  is  full  of 
the  sound  of  invisible  voices.  The  other  night 
I  drove  through  the  country.  All  around  me  was 
stillness,  but  when  I  thought,  I  perceived  that 
stillness  to  be  one  choir  of  invisible  voices.  The 
whip-poor-wills  were  calling  soft  notes  through 
the  shrubbery ;  the  brook  was  leaping  musically 
down  its  pebbly  channel;  the  wind  was  singing 
in  the  pines ;  and  the  deep  pedal  bass  tone  of  the 
surf  was  behind  and  under  all.  Such  ever  is  the 
stillness  of  God,  — a  voice  invisible,  harmonious, 
noble,  guiding  us  not  on  the  country  walk  alone 
through  the  green  pastures,  but  guiding  us  as 
faithfully  and  as  tenderly  in  all  the  rough  and 
winding  paths  of  life,  and  in  the  valley  of  deep- 
est shadow,  a  word  behind  us  and  within  us 
saying,  *'This  is  the  way,  walk  ye  in  it."  Oh! 
my  friends  going  away  from  the  noise  of  the  city 
to  the  stillness  of  the  green  pastures :  may  God 
speak  to  you  this  summer  through  the  voice  of 
His  own  stillness ;  may  the  Holy  Spirit  give  you 
ears  to  hear  as  you  have  never  heard  before! 
Amen. 


(^AvaKv\f/aT€) 
St.  Luke  21  :  28 

More  than  twenty  years  ago  a  little  group  of 
children  were  accustomed  to  study  together  day 
by  day,  in  one  of  the  rooms  of  a  country-house. 
They  were  taught  by  a  governess,  and  she,  in 
many  ways,  was  taught  by  the  Spirit  of  God.  So 
I  have  grown  to  think,  looking  back  from  man- 
hood, upon  those  labors  of  hers,  from  which  she 
has  long  since  rested,  being  now  dead.  She 
taught  not  only  Latin  and  history  and  arith- 
metic, but  beauteous  verses  from  the  greater 
poets,  and  noble  portions  of  the  Word  of  God, 
and  many  hymns,  whose  music  will  echo  on 
through  all  the  life  of  some  of  those  who  learned 
them.  She  taught  also  the  greatness  and  the 
highness  of  life,  as  the  gift  of^God;  and  in  ways 
those  children  could  understand,  she  stood  among 
them  pointing  upward.  She  made  for  each  one  of 
them  a  badge,  to  be  worn,  sometimes,  over  the 
heart.  It  was  blue,  like  the  sky  of  a  day  in  June, 
and  upon  it,   in  white,  were  embroidered  the 

[95] 


Cl^e  ^(Iber  Cup 

words,  **  Look  up."  As  yesterday  it  seems  to  one 
of  those  children,  a  boy  of  thirteen,  when  he  wore 
that  badge, and  when  he  did  begin  to  **  Look  up" ; 
and  it  seems  to  him  to-day  as  if  that  badge  of 
blue,  with  its  two  white  words,  were  still  pinned 
above  his  heart,  and  as  if  he  could  speak  those 
two  white  words  more  earnestly  to  children 
because  they  were  fastened  so  early  and  so  lov- 
ingly upon  his  own  childhood. 

"Lookup!"  Yes, they  are  white  words.  Would 
to  God  I  might  fasten  them  to-day  upon  the  heart 
of  each  one  of  you. 

"Look  up!"  Who  is  thankful  enough,  who 
can  be  thankful  enough  for  being  so  made  in  our 
bodies  that  we  can  look  at  all,  and  that  we  can 
look  up  when  we  want  to.  There  are  two  people 
mentioned  in  the  Gospel,  to  whom  my  heart 
goes  out  with  overflowing  pity,  every  time  I 
think  of  them.  One  was  the  man  born  blind;  the 
other  was  the  woman  bent  over  by  a  spirit  of  in- 
firmity, so  that  for^  eighteen  years  she  could  not 
lift  herself  up.  The  man  could  not  look  at  all. 
The  woman  could  not  look  up  for  eighteen  years. 

Fancy  being  born  blind  —  not  able  to  look  at 
all  —  sightless  eyes.  Every  year  must  bring  more 
pain,  as  one  learns  more  of  what  beauteous  things 
[96] 


are  in  the  earth.  Here  are  an  opal  and  a  diamond 
and  a  ruby;  here  are  a  bunch  of  violets  and  a 
branch  of  wild  roses;  here  are  a  painting  by 
Meisonnier  and  a  portfolio  of  etchings;  here  is 
the  pure,  bright,  wholesome  face  of  a  child, 
speaking  love  and  mirth  with  its  bonny  eyes ;  here 
is  the  waving  network  of  shadows  and  gold  on  a 
smooth  lawn  when  the  afternoon  breeze  and  sun- 
light are  playing  through  high  trees ;  here  come 
those  amazing  troops  of  colors,  rising,  after  sun- 
set, and  soaring  like  legions  of  angels  up  the 
clouds.  And  not  one  of  these  is  anything  but  a 
name  and  a  sorrow  to  the  man  born  blind. 

And  fancy  being  bowed  over  with  a  spirit  of 
infirmity,  bent  almost  double,  and  not  able  to 
lift  yourself  up,  and  to  look  up,  for  eighteen 
years.  It  is  terrible.  That  poor  woman  could 
look,  but  she  had  to  look  down,  to  the  things 
beneath  her,  to  the  dust  and  uncleanness  of  the 
streets,  to  her  own,  tired  feeble  steps.  Never,  as 
she  walked  through  those  slow  years  of  misery, 
could  she  lift  up  her  face  to  the  sun  and  let  the 
glory  of  it  play  full  upon  her,  like  the  brightness 
of  the  eyes  of  God;  never  could  she  rest  her  eyes 
by  gazing  off  on  distant  hilltops,  and  on  the 
magnificent  repose  of  the  sea.     She  could  not 

[97] 


Cl^e  ^iVotv  Cup 

'*look  up."  The  very  thought  of  such  a  privation 
makes  my  back  and  my  heart  ache.  For  as  sight 
is  the  grandest  physical  gift  which  man  possesses, 
so  his  grandest  use  of  it  is  to  *'look  up,"  if  his 
soul  looks  through  his  eyes. 

How  one  can  remember  certain  hours  when, 
in  looking  up,  deep  and  lifelong  impressions  of 
God's  greatness  and  of  life's  greatness  were 
suddenly  and  sharply  printed  on  the  soul.  Two 
such  hours  return  before  my  memory  now.  One 
was  during  my  first  night  in  Switzerland,  years 
ago.  I  had  reached  the  inn  at  nightfall.  It  was 
wet,  and  I  was  tired  from  the  long  diligence  ride. 
I  retired  early.  When  I  awoke  it  was  in  the  depths 
of  the  night.  The  wind  had  changed,  the  sky  was 
cloudless,  the  silver  of  late  moonlight  overspread 
the  scene,  and  looking  up  from  my  pillow  I  be- 
held the  summit  of  Mont  Blanc  cut  clear  against 
the  sky,  and  two  glittering  stars  beside  it.  The 
other  hour  was  in  the  Canadian  Province  of  New 
Brunswick,  in  a  summer  morning.  I  lay  in  the 
midst  of  a  meadow  of  ripe  grass,  and  of  all  the 
earth  I  could  see  nothing  but  the  clovers  and 
daisies  standing  in  a  sky-line  around  me.  Over- 
head were  the  depths  —  cloud  over  cloud  white 
and  soft,  with  abysses  of  blue  between.  Ah! 
[98] 


ILoo6  Op 

what  joyous  remembrances  from  these  and  a 
thousand  kindred  hours  come  back  to  those  who 
have  been  taught  to  "look  up"  with  their  natural 
eyes,  to  love  the  attribute  of  height  in  nature  — 
high  trees,  high  cliffs,  high  clouds,  high  stars,  the 
higher  flights  of  birds.  How  often  have  these 
things  become  sacraments  and  symbols  of  things 
higher  than  clouds  and  stars,  to  which  unseen 
heights  the  soul  has  looked  in  vision  keener  than 
natural  eyesight.  And  so,  I  am  not  ashamed  to 
say  to  you,  rny  younger  friends,  "Look  up!" 
Even  with  your  natural  eyes,  "Seek  the  things 
that  are  above";  form  the  habit  of  noticing  and 
loving  the  glorious  things  above  our  level.  Note 
the  changes  of  the  sky,  the  balancings  of  clouds ; 
learn  and  love  mountains;  study  stars;  consider 
the  heavens,  the  work  of  God's  fingers,  the  moon 
and  the  stars  which  He  hath  ordained ;  follow  the 
soaring,  hovering  birds  that  hang  far  overhead 
in  summer  time,  motionless  as  signs  in  the  sky. 

But  why  do  I  tell  you  this  ?  Have  I  asked  you 
to  come  here  only  that  we  might  talk  of  these 
beautiful  things  in  nature :  the  flight  of  birds,  the 
glitter  of  stars,  the  balancing  of  clouds  ?  No!  not 
only  for  this! 

I  am  going  on  to  speak  of  another  way  in  which 
[  99] 


some  of  us  are  finding  it  a  happiness  to  "look 
up."  Many,  many  years  ago  a  little  group  of 
men  stood  on  the  top  of  a  hill,  looking  up.  They 
were  not  looking  at  some  mountain  peak  curbing 
the  sky ;  nor  at  the  glorious  bright  clouds  sailing 
overhead ;  nor  at  some  eagle  hovering  on  mighty 
wings.  Their  souls  were  looking  through  their 
eyes,  above  the  eagle,  and  above  the  clouds,  on  — 
on  —  on.  A  few  moments  ago  there  had  stood  at 
their  side  a  most  dear  and  glorious  Friend,  who, 
while  He  was  with  them,  had  put  a  new  mean- 
ing into  life;  had  filled  their  minds  with  great 
thoughts ;  had  sympathized  with  all  their  fears 
and  troubles;  had  given  their  lives  a  most  won- 
derful peace.  And  now  He  is  not  here;  "a  cloud 
of  light  has  received  Him  from  their  sight."  He 
has  gone,  upward  and  upward,  beyond  the  hills, 
and  beyond  the  cloud,  and  beyond  the  hovering 
eagle,  and  their  thoughts  are  following  Him,  long 
after  their  eyes  have  lost  Him.  They  hear  voices 
at  their  side;  and  there  stand  two  strangers  in 
shining  garments,  asking,  "Why  stand  ye  gazing 
up  into  heaven  ?  This  same  Jesus,  which  is  taken 
up  from  you  into  heaven,  shall  so  come  in  like 
manner  as  ye  have  seen  Him  go  into  heaven." 
And  then  they  know  that  they  have  still  His 
[  100] 


iLoofe  aip 

work  to  do,  and  that  He  has  promised  them  His 
Holy  Spirit  to  quicken  and  freshen  all  their 
powers.  And  so  they  do  not  stand  looking  up 
with  their  eyes ;  they  come  back  to  their  work,  and 
as  they  try  every  day  to  do  it  better,  their  souls 
are  always  looking  up,  and  the  influence  of  this 
Friend  who  has  gone  upward  is  lifting  their  lives 
in  every  possible  way,  and  drawing  their  thoughts 
up  higher  and  higher. 

What  I  most  desire  to  do  this  day  is  to  speak 
to  you  of  that  Friend,  to  remind  you  of  what  He 
has  done;  to  remind  you  of  what  He  is  doing 
now,  and  to  entreat  you,  in  all  that  you  plan,  and 
attempt,  and  do,  to  remember  Him  —  and  look 
up. 

Let  not  any  of  us  ever  forget  what  He  has  done 
for  us !  It  is  not  my  words,  nor  the  words  of  any 
man,  can  make  you  appreciate  what  Jesus  has 
done  for  you.  A  voice  far  more  tender  than  mine 
must  come  and  speak  in  the  ear  of  the  soul,  a 
hand  far  more  skillful  than  mine  must  touch  our 
understanding,  before  we  can  see  all  that  Jesus 
did  for  us,  and  why  it  was  needful  that  He  should 
do  so  much.  The  Spirit  of  God  is  the  only  teacher 
who  can  teach  us  this ;  for  only  the  Spirit  of  God 
can  show  us  that  we  need  a  Saviour,  and  not  till 
[  101  ] 


Cl^e  filter  €np 

we  know  that  we  need  a  Saviour  can  we  see  that 
what  Jesus  did,  He  did  for  us.  The  Spirit  of  God 
can  show  this,  and,  furthermore.  He  has  shown  it 
to  some  of  us.  He  has  opened  our  understand- 
ings, and  softened  our  hearts,  and  convinced  us 
that  Jesus  Christ  came  into  the  world  to  make 
Himself  a  sacrifice  for  our  sins;  and  all  that 
Jesus  suffered  He  as  truly  suffered  for  each  of  us 
personally  as  if  He  had  died  this  very  day,  and 
from  the  cross  had  called  to  us  by  name,  and  said, 
I  am  dying  for  you!  I  should  feel  that  these 
words  were  too  sacred  to  speak  if  it  were  not  that 
God's  Spirit  seems  to  prompt  me  to  speak  them. 
Oh!  that  He  may  take  them,  and  bear  them 
straight  into  your  hearts,  filling  you  with  the  one 
thought:  "  Christ  is  my  tender,  suffering  Saviour. 
Jesus  came  down  and  entered  into  this  world 
where  I  live,  suffered  its  temptations,  bore  its 
griefs,  at  last  endured  the  bitterness  of  death, 
that  He  might  come  close  to  me,  in  all  my  needs, 
in  every  phase  of  my  life." 

And  now,  how  shall  I  think  of  Jesus  ?  Let  me 
think  of  Him  as  the  ascended  Saviour,  first  coming 
down  and  entering  perfectly  into  my  life,  that  I 
may  be  reconciled  to  God  by  His  death  and  that 
I  may  know  His  sympathy,  and  then  going  up, 
[  102  ] 


iLoofi  Op 

that  He  may  forever  draw  my  heart  and  mind 
upward  too,  as  long  as  I  live,  that  I  may  by  every 
thought  of  Christ  be  lifted  up,  and  made  to  "look 
up  "  —  that  all  my  plans  and  all  my  work  and  all 
my  views  of  life  may  have  that  upward  influence 
acting  upon  them,  and  become  more  high  and 
more  worthy  of  Him. 

I  know  that  I  speak  to  many  earnest  children 
and  youth,  to  many  who  think  deeply  and  in- 
tently upon  this  whole  subject  of  life,  and  who 
most  truly  want  to  honor  Jesus.  And  to  some  of 
them  the  thought  may  have  come:  '*Oh!  that 
Jesus  had  remained  here  where  we  could  see 
Him  with  our  eyes  and  talk  to  Him  with  our 
lips!"  It  is  a  natural  thought;  but,  nevertheless, 
we  are  far  better  off  now.  If  He  had  remained 
we  could  not  have  seen  Him  often,  perhaps  not 
have  spoken  to  Him  once  in  our  lives,  such 
crowds  would  be  around  Him  all  the  time.  And 
you  know.  He  said :  "It  is  expedient,  that  is,  it  is 
good  for  you,  that  I  go  away."  Think  how  good 
it  has  been  for  us  that  He  went  away  —  that  He 
arose,  and  ascended  up,  and  that  now  every 
thought  of  every  loyal  heart  is  thus  drawn  up- 
ward too.  Oh !  how  good  it  is  for  us  that  Christ 
is  above  us,  and  that  just  so  far  as  we  love  Him, 
[  103  ] 


Ci^e  outlet  Cup 

and  think  of  Him,  we  reach  and  look  upward! 
It  seems  as  if  He  has  given  a  charge  to  His  Holy 
Spirit  to  fasten  on  our  hearts  those  two  white 
words,  '*  Look  up,"  and  to  bring  that  dear  thought 
more  and  more  into  our  lives  until  it  is  a  daily 
help  to  some  of  us,  keeping  the  thoughts  of  our 
hearts  and  the  desires  of  our  minds  sweet  and 
strong,  and  saving  us  from  things  whose  influ- 
ence is  downward  and  not  upward. 

I  spoke  in  the  earlier  part  of  this  sermon  of 
how  some  of  us  love  to  "look  up,"  even  with  our 
natural  eyes;  how  we  feel  rested  and  inspired 
and  elevated  in  mind  when  we  look  up  at  the 
high  mountain,  or  at  the  soaring  bird,  or  at  the 
fleecy  clouds,  or  at  the  sun,  or  at  the  glittering 
stars;  how  there  seems  to  be  something  in  us 
which  answers  to  these  high  and  splendid  sights 
in  nature,  —  a  joy,  a  sense  of  buoyancy,  as  if  we 
too  had  wings.  Cannot  many  of  us  say  for  our- 
selves Wordsworth's  delicious  lines  :  — 

My  heart  leaps  up  when  I  behold 
A  rainbow  in  the  sky. 

And  now,  as  I  come  toward  the  end  of  the  ser- 
mon, may  I  not  speak  of  how  this  same  dear 
thought  of  *' looking  up"  may  enter  into  the  daily 
[  104  ] 


loofi  ap 

life  of  us  who  are  here ;  the  thought  of  looking 
up,  not  to  clouds  or  stars  alone,  but  to  Him  who 
once  trod  this  earth  as  our  suffering  Saviour,  and 
is  now  exalted  to  the  glory  of  the  Father,  where 
He  ever  liveth  to  make  intercession  for  us. 

We  can  begin  every  day  of  our  life  by  looking 
up!  Do  you  know  the  third  verse  of  the  fifth 
Psalm  ?  It  is  what  I  call  a  dear  verse.  It  is  as 
fresh  and  sweet  as  an  early  morning  in  June. 
The  rays  of  the  rising  sun  pour  their  glory  into  it. 
It  is  this:  "My  voice  shalt  Thou  hear  in  the 
morning,  O  Lord;  in  the  morning  will  I  direct 
my  prayer  unto  Thee,  and  will  look  up."  How 
perfectly  natural  it  is  to  look  up  in  the  morning 
when  you  are  in  the  country.  When  I  am  down 
in  the  country,  I  come  downstairs  and  go  out  on 
the  big  breezy  piazza,  and  the  very  first  thing  I 
do  is  to  look  up.  I  take  a  look  at  the  sky;  I  see 
which  way  the  wind  is  blowing ;  I  find  out  what 
kind  of  a  day  it  is  going  to  be.  Ah !  how  much  in 
your  life  and  mine  depends  on  that  wondrous 
habit  of  looking  up  in  the  morning,  of  starting 
up  from  our  rest  as  if,  almost,  we  were  rising  up 
to  begin  a  new  fresh  life,  and  before  we  have  been 
compelled  to  fix  our  eyes  on  things  around  us 
(to  look  at  our  books,  or  at  our  practicing,  or  at 
[  105  ] 


our  home  duties),  to  look  up  and  greet  with 
conscious  thoughts  that  blessed  One  who  has 
gone  up  on  high  to  pray  for  us  and  to  prepare 
a  place  for  us ;  to  look  up  and  think  of  Jesus  — 
holy,  blameless,  undefiled,  separate  from  sin- 
ners, kind,  noble,  glorious,  patient,  tender,  self- 
sacrificing.  What  a  beginning  to  a  day  that 
makes ;  how  much  it  has  to  do  with  the  way  the 
wind  shall  blow  all  that  day,  and  what  sort  of  a 
day  it  shall  be.  Do  not  tell  me  you  have  not  time 
for  this.  No  arrow  in  its  flight,  no  strong  bird, 
no  flash  of  lightning  was  ever  so  quick  as  the 
thought,  the  look  of  the  soul,  that  can  be  shot 
upward  in  the  morning.  Rise  five  minutes  ear- 
lier, if  necessary,  and  that  five  minute  look  — 
if  that  be  all  you  can  spare  —  that  conscious  look 
upward  will  follow  you  like  a  blessing  all  day 
long. 

We  can  "look  up"  in  the  study  hour,  in  the 
hour  of  exercise,  and  in  all  our  intellectual  tasks. 
There  was  a  verse  of  the  New  Testament  which 
my  mother  taught  me  about  the  time  when  the 
blue  badge  with  the  two  white  words  was  pinned 
on.  It  was  this:  "Whether  therefore  ye  eat  or 
drink,  or  whatsoever  ye  do,  do  all  to  the  glory  of 
God."  Is  not  that  a  noble  verse  —  and  how  well 
[  106] 


ILod6  dp 

the  two  white  words  fit  it  —  to  think  that  when 
we  eat  or  drink  we  are  not  just  animals  keeping 
ourselves  alive;  and  that  when  we  study  or  prac- 
tice or  read  or  take  exercise  we  are  not  just 
doing  these  things  because  we  are  told  to  do 
them.  There  is  glory  even  in  these  things.  What- 
soever ye  do,  do  all  to  the  glory  of  God.  And  you 
say,  where  is  the  glory  in  eating  or  studying  or 
practicing  or  walking  ?  If  you  want  to  see  the 
glory,  look  up. 

Look  up !  and  remember  that  Christ,  the  as- 
scended  Son,  died  for  you  and  rose  again,  that  He 
might  open  to  you  the  possibilities  of  a  grander 
life,  and  that  in  this  grander  life  everything  is 
important  that  touches  you  in  any  way.  Your 
health  is  important,  you  ought  to  take  care  of  it 
as  His  servant,  you  ought  not  to  eat  or  drink  or 
use  or  do  anything  that  will  hurt  you  and  weaken 
you.  Your  mind  is  important,  and  every  sum 
in  arithmetic,  every  verb  in  Latin,  faithfully  la- 
bored over,  is  just  so  much  training  to  strengthen 
you  to  fill  the  place  Christ  w^ants  you  to  fill.  Your 
special  talents  are  important.  If  you  can  play 
or  sing  or  draw  or  speak  or  write  or  teach  or 
keep  accounts,  or  do  anything  specially  well, 
you  are  to  look  up,  and  ask  that  He  will  be 
[  107] 


Ci^e  ^(Iber  Cup 

pleased  to  help  you  to  do  the  very  best  you  can 
to  develop  your  powers,  and  to  guide  you  to  be 
of  use,  if  it  pleases  Him,  through  every  one  of 
your  gifts,  however  simple  they  may  be.  Look  up ! 
that  these  days  of  study  and  of  the  finding  out  of 
what  you  can  do  may  not  be,  on  the  one  hand, 
days  of  mere  drudgery,  nor,  on  the  other  hand, 
days  of  idleness  and  waste.  Look  up !  and  keep 
your  face  toward  the  highest  and  the  best,  that 
you  may  be  more  worthy  of  Him  who  gave  the 
highest  and  the  best  He  had  to  give,  even  His 
own  holy  life,  for  your  sake. 

Look  up !  Oh !  my  friend,  I  would  whisper  it  in 
the  ear  of  your  soul,  look  up  and  fix  your  thoughts 
and  your  desires  on  that  lofty  life  of  Jesus  in  the 
hour  of  moral  weakness,  faltering,  and  tempta- 
tion. There  are  people  whom  I  know  that  cannot 
trust  themselves  to  look  down  when  climbing 
the  peak  of  a  mountain,  or  standing  on  the  top 
of  a  tower,  or  on  the  roof  of  a  high  building. 
They  know  that  if  they  looked  down  to  things 
below  a  terrible  dizziness  would  make  the  brain 
to  swim,  and  an  impulse  they  might  not  be  able 
to  resist  would  take  possession  of  their  wills  and 
cause  them  to  throw  themselves  down.  We  are 
all  like  that,  when  we  come  to  those  dangerous 
[  108  ] 


iLoofi  ap 

hours  in  life  when  we  must  pass  along  the  edge 
of  great  temptations.  Trust  not  yourself,  my 
child  friend,  in  such  an  hour  to  look  down,  to 
think  of  and  dwell  upon  the  things  below.  Dizzi- 
ness will  seize  your  brain,  and  an  awful  impulse 
to  throw  yourself  down  into  the  temptation  will 
sweep  over  your  will.  Look  up !  Oh !  in  such 
an  hour,  look  up !  Let  your  thoughts,  let  your  de- 
sires shoot  like  arrows  upward  to  the  heights 
where  Christ  is  praying  for  you.  Fix  the  eyes  of 
your  mind  on  Him.  Look  up !  Look  up !  He  will 
hold  you  up  and  steady  your  mind  and  keep  your 
eyes  from  the  tears  of  shame  and  your  feet  from 
the  dreadful  stumble.  Look  up!  and  win  your 
victory!  Look  up,  and  let  your  very  look  be 
prayer — a  prayer  like  this:  — 

Grant,  I  beseech  Thee,  Almighty  God,  that 
the  thoughts  of  my  heart  may  thither  tend 
whither  Thine  Only  Begotten  Son  hath  entered 
in;  so  that  as  I  ascend  thither  by  faith,  my  whole 
conversation  may  be  in  Heaven.   Amen. 


Cotoartisi  €\)ening 

St.  Luke  24  :  29 

This  is  the  eventide  of  Easter  Day.  The  radi- 
ant morn,  the  glorious  noon,  of  this  wonderful, 
wonderful  day  have  passed  by;  and  now  it  is 
"  towards  evening  and  the  day  is  far  spent."  And 
in  some  ways  it  seems  to  me  that  we  have  now 
come  to  the  most  sweet  and  tender  part  of  this 
whole  day.  Each  part  of  the  day — morning, 
noon,  and  eventide  —  is  beautiful  in  its  own  time 
and  way.  And,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  that  is  true 
for  me,  not  on  Easter  day  only ;  it  is  true  every 
day. 

I  love  each  part  of  a  day  with  a  special  kind  of 
love  that  belongs  to  that  special  part  of  the  day. 
I  love  the  morning  with  a  morning  love:  when 
the  dawn  is  breaking,  and  the  birds  are  waking ; 
when  the  breeze  is  waking  with  the  birds,  and 
rustling  the  leaves,  and  waving  the  flowers,  and 
wrinkling  up  the  blue  waters  of  the  sea  with  little 
waves,  and  swelling  the  sails  of  the  fishing-boats, 
as  they  drop  down  the  river  with  the  tide,  and 
stand  out  off  shore.  I  love  the  noonday  with  a 
[  110] 


noonday  love :  when  the  day  is  at  its  height,  and 
the  sun  is  at  the  top  of  the  are  of  blue ;  when  light 
flows  over  everything  like  a  high  tide,  and  the 
hawk  with  outstretched,  motionless  wings  high 
above  you  looks  as  if  he  were  floating  on  the 
breast  of  that  tide.  I  love  the  eventide  with  an 
eventide  love:  when  it  is  towards  evening,  and 
the  day  is  far  spent,  then  sometimes  thoughts, 
memories,  hopes,  long,  soft,  and  silent  as  the  even- 
ing shadows,  steal  across  the  mind,  and  light, 
glorious  as  the  sunset,  is  given  to  the  heart. 

We  know  exactly  what  Jesus  was  doing  at  this 
hour  of  eventide,  on  that  first  great  Easter  day 
when  He  arose  from  the  dead.  We  know,  also, 
what  He  did  at  the  beginning  of  that  day.  Very, 
very  early  in  the  Sunday  morning  —  it  must  have 
been  just  before  daylight  began  to  show  itself  — 
He  arose  from  the  grave  where  He  had  lain  dead 
since  sunset  on  the  Friday  before,  and  He  came 
forth  beautiful  in  His  new  risen  life;  and  when 
the  birds  were  waking  up  and  the  morning  breeze 
was  beginning  to  rustle  among  the  treetops.  He 
was  walking  up  and  down  in  the  lovely  paths  of 
Joseph's  garden.  What  a  morning  walk  that  must 
have  been  for  Him !  Do  you  not  think  He  must 
often  think  of  it  now  with  joy,  as  He  lives  His 

[  111  ] 


glorious  Life,  "He  that  liveth  and  was  dead  and 
is  alive  for  evermore." 

We  do  not  know  what  the  Lord  Jesus  did 
through  the  noontide  hours  of  Easter  day. 
Whether  He  spent  those  hours  alone,  thinking 
His  great  thoughts  of  purity  and  peace,  in  some 
quiet  part  of  the  garden,  or  whether  He  went 
about,  unknown  and  unrecognized,  doing  good 
to  people.  We  know  that  after  He  rose  from  the 
dead  He  had  the  power  of  going  about  without 
being  recognized;  and,  possibly,  all  that  first 
forenoon,  He  went  on  with  the  work  He  loved 
best,  going  where  some  little  sick  child  was  sleep- 
ing, laying  His  hand  on  the  hot,  little  forehead, 
and  making  the  child  wake  up  quite  well ;  going 
to  some  boy  tempted  to  do  wrong,  and,  whis- 
pering such  words  of  courage  in  his  ear,  the  boy 
grew  brave  and  conquered.  We  do  not  know  if 
He  did  any  such  thing;  but  if  He  did,  it  would 
be  just  like  Him. 

But  when  the  day  gets  on  past  noon,  we  do 
know  just  where  the  risen  Saviour  was,  and  what 
He  did.  You  know  that  the  garden  within  which 
Christ  was  buried,  and  where  He  arose  from  the 
dead,  was  just  outside  of  the  city  of  Jerusalem. 
Now,  about  seven  and  a  half  or  eight  miles  north- 
[  112  ] 


Cot»art>si  tuning 

west  from  Jerusalem  was  a  little  village  called 
Emmaus,  and  it  is  on  the  road  leading  to  that 
village  we  find  Jesus  walking  in  the  middle  of 
Easter  afternoon.  He  is  not  alone.  Two  men  are 
with  Him  —  men  who  had  known  Him  and  loved 
Him  before  He  was  crucified.  Strange  to  say, 
they  do  not  know  Him  now.  If  you  ask  me  how 
that  could  have  been,  I  can  only  answer:  "I  do 
not  know  how  it  could  have  been."  I  only  know 
that  the  Bible  says  "their  eyes  were  holden,  or 
prevented,  so  that  they  should  not  know  Him." 
The  risen  Lord  had  that  wonderful  power  by 
which  He  could  keep  Himself  unknown  until 
He  saw  fit  to  make  Himself  known.  What  were 
these  two  men  talking  about,  as  He  walked  be- 
side them  ?  They  were  talking  about  Jesus  Him- 
self;  so  sadly,  so  hopelessly.  They  said:  **He  is 
dead."  Their  hope  was  all  gone.  And  when 
they  had  told  this  stranger  —  for  He  seemed  like 
a  stranger  to  them  —  how  badly  they  felt,  the 
stranger  —  not  telling  them  who  He  was  —  be- 
gan to  talk  to  them  about  Jesus.  And  He  talked 
so  tenderly,  so  wisely,  so  wonderfully.  He  seemed 
to  know  so  well  how  to  speak  to  them,  and  how 
to  comfort  them,  they  began  to  feel  courage  and 
hope  coming  back  to  their  hearts.  Their  hearts 
[  113  ] 


Cl^e  ^iMt  Cup 

fairly  burned  with  a  warm,  sweet  joy,  as  if  the 
afternoon  sunlight  were  pouring  into  them.  On 
and  on  they  walked,  and  ever  the  stranger  con- 
tinued to  speak  of  Jesus  and  their  love  for  Him. 
By  and  by  they  reached  Emmaus,  as  the 
shadows  of  the  late  afternoon  were  lengthening, 
and  as  the  sun  was  far  down  toward  the  western 
hills.  They  reached  the  door  of  the  house  where 
they  were  going  to  stay.  The  two  men  stopped; 
but  the  stranger,  saying  only,  I  suppose,  a  pleas- 
ant **  Good-night,"  walked  right  on.  Then  they 
realized  how  much  he  had  helped  them,  and 
they  could  not  stand  the  thought  of  His  going  on 
and  leaving  them.  The  sunlight  seemed  to  fade, 
the  shadows  to  deepen,  the  chill  of  the  evening 
damp  to  smite  upon  them,  the  old  sadness  and 
discouragement  to  settle  on  them,  as  He  turned  to 
walk  away.  "Abide  with  us !"  they  cried.  " Stay 
with  us,  we  are  so  lonely  as  the  evening  comes 
on,  you  have  helped  us;  stay  with  us,  talk  to 
us,  still  help  us  to  be  brave."  He  stopped.  He 
turned.  He  went  into  the  house  with  them.  As 
the  sun  went  down  a  strange  light  seemed  shining 
in  His  face.  They  wondered,  yet  could  not  un- 
derstand. Supper  was  ready  and  they  sat  down. 
He  went  to  the  head  of  the  table  as  though  they 
[  114] 


were  His  guests,  rather  than  He  theirs.  They 
wondered,  yet  could  not  understand.  He  took 
some  bread,  closed  His  eyes,  and  asked  a  blessing. 
As  He  prayed  light  shined  in  His  face.  They 
opened  their  eyes,  looked  again,  and  knew  Him, 
—  Jesus  risen  from  the  dead !  Oh !  story  of  stories, 
to  be  told  again,  on  the  very  eventide  of  Easter 
day! 

But  I  said  there  was  another  reason  why 
this  special  hour  "towards  evening"  seems  to-day 
so  very  wonderful.  Not  only  is  it  the  hour  of  the 
supper  at  Emmaus,  it  is  also  your  special  hour. 
This  is  the  Children's  Hour.  As  I  say  this,  I 
catch  a  new  meaning  in  those  sweet  lines  of  Long- 
fellow which  he  could  not  have  thought  of  when 
he  wrote  them :  — 

Between  the  dark  and  the  daylight 
When  the  night  is  beginning  to  lower, 
Comes  a  pause  in  the  day's  occupations 
That  is  known  as  the  Children's  Hour. 

Yes;  now,  "towards  evening,"  towards  evening 
of  Easter  day,  at  this  very  time  when  we  are 
thinking  of  the  way  those  two  friends  begged  the 
stranger  to  stay  and  take  supper  with  them,  not 
knowing  that  He  was  their  own  beloved  Lord  and 
Master,  at  this  very  time,  "between  the  dark 
[  115  ] 


and  the  daylight,  when  the  night  is  beginning 
to  lower,"  is  the  hour  when  I  may  talk  to  you 
about  your  lives,  about  how  you  too  may  walk 
with  Jesus,  and  be  helped  and  strengthened  by 
Him,  and  about  how  you  too  may  beg  Him  to 
come  in  and  stay  with  you,  and  be  sure  He  will 
gladly  do  it,  and  make  Himself  known  unto  you. 
Now  let  us  have  a  little  "towards  evening" 
talk!  In  every  happy  home  what  a  sweet  time 
that  is  "towards  evening,"  what  a  cosy  time, 
what  a  loving  time.  I  do  not  know  which  I  like 
best,  "towards  evening"  in  winter,  or  "towards 
evening  "  in  summer.  Although  the  same  time, 
they  are  very  different  kinds  of  times.  Towards 
evening  in  winter  it  grows  dark  very  early  and 
very  quickly ;  and  often  we  make  up  a  wood-fire, 
and  have  the  evening  frolic  or  the  evening  talk 
when  the  flames  are  throwing  all  kinds  of  shad- 
ows over  the  ceiling  and  the  walls.  Towards 
evening  in  summer  we  love  to  watch  the  long 
sunsets,  and  to  have  the  evening  talk  or  frolic 
out  of  doors,  or  indoors  with  all  the  windows 
open  and  the  cool  winds  blowing  through  every 
room.  I  think  if  the  smaller  children  here  were 
to  speak  out  they  could  tell  of  some  pretty  happy 
times  which  they  have  towards  evening,  when 
[  116  ] 


their  father  comes  home  with  his  heart  just  run- 
ning over  with  the  love  that  has  been  storing  up 
all  day,  and  when  their  mother  puts  aside  every- 
thing else  for  the  joy  of  putting  her  own  dear  little 
people  to  bed.  And  do  you  not  know  how  some- 
times —  I  guess  nearly  all  the  times  —  towards 
evening  you  want  the  greatest  kind  of  a  frolic. 
But  sometimes  towards  evening  you  who  are 
older  love  to  have  a  little  quiet  thinking-time, 
between  the  dark  and  the  daylight.  About  the 
time  when  the  sunset  gun  is  sounding,  and  the 
night  is  beginning  to  lower,  there  is  a  pause  in 
the  day's  occupation;  the  day  is  about  over,  the 
evening  work  has  not  begun,  and  you  like  a 
quiet  corner  and  a  quiet  *' think."  It  is  a  beauti- 
ful habit  to  form,  and  a  beautiful  thing  to  grow 
fond  of,  that  little  space  of  quietness  towards 
evening.  And  I  wish  to  say  one  thing  just  here: 
there  is  one  day  in  every  week  when  that  time  of 
thinking  towards  evening  is  specially  wonderful 
if  you  can  have  it.  That  day  is  the  Lord's  day. 
Why  do  we  call  Sunday  the  Lord's  day.^  Be- 
cause every  Sunday,  being  the  first  day  of  the 
week,  reminds  us  of  the  resurrection,  and  is 
specially  called  by  the  name  of  Him  who  rose 
on  the  first  day.  Every  Sunday  is  truly  an  Easter 
[  117] 


Ci^e  filter  Cup 

day,  and  every  Sunday  at  eventide  commemo- 
rates the  walk  to  Emmaus,  the  talk  with  Jesus, 
the  earnest  request,  '*  Abide  with  us,  for  it  is 
towards  evening."  Oh!  then  think  what  won- 
derful times  we  can  have  every  Sunday  towards 
evening. 

But  what  would  it  mean  if  one  of  you  were 
really  to  begin,  this  Easter  eventide,  to  say  to 
the  risen  Lord  Jesus,  "Abide  with  me"?  What 
would  it  mean  if  towards  evening  of  this  very 
day,  and  towards  evening  of  every  Lord's  day 
to  come,  you  were  to  ask  this  dear  Friend,  who 
once  was  dead,  dying  for  you;  who  now^  liveth, 
living  for  you;  who  ever  liveth  to  intercede  for 
you,  —  what  would  it  mean  if  you  were  hence- 
forth to  seek  earnestly  for  His  abiding  in  your 
life?  Let  us  carry  our  "towards  evening"  talk 
a  little  further.  And  I  shall  say  now  some  things 
so  simply  that  every  one  of  you  can  understand 
them;  and  yet  they  are  such  great  and  high 
things,  if  you  remember  them,  and  use  them,  you 
will  all  find  out  what  it  is  to  have  Jesus,  the 
risen  Lord,  come  and  abide  in  your  life. 

Towards  evening,  five  thoughts  naturally 
enter  our  heads,  born  of  the  evening  time.  Sin- 
gularly enough,  they  all  begin  with  the  same 
[  118] 


letter,  the  letter  "S,"  so  they  can  be  easily  re- 
membered. Sunset,  Shadow,  Supper,  Shelter, 
Sleep.  Every  one  of  these  are  thoughts  that  come 
towards  evening ;  every  one  may  speak  to  us  of 
a  plain  and  simple  way  in  which  we  need  the 
entrance  and  the  abiding  of  the  risen  Saviour. 
Sunset  tells  us  that  another  day  of  life  is  ending. 
Shadow  tells  us  that  we  cannot  have  all  sunshine 
in  our  lives.  Supper  tells  us  of  home  life  and  the 
gathering  of  the  family.  Shelter  tells  us  of  a  safe 
refuge  from  the  storm.  Sleep  tells  us  of  prepara- 
tion for  a  coming  day. 

Towards  evening  comes  the  Sunset  thought, 
to  tell  us  that  another  day  of  life  is  ending.  This 
day  is  ending,  it  is  going  away  from  us,  never  to 
come  back.  We  have  had  it;  we  have  had  all 
there  was  of  it.  What  has  his  day  been  to  us,  this 
Lord's  day  ?  What  have  we  felt  of  all  the  great 
things  which  have  filled  this  day.^  What  have 
we  seen  of  all  its  light.?  What  have  we  tried  to 
do,  to-day,  for  the  sake  of  Jesus  ?  What  mistakes, 
what  misdeeds  have  come  into  this  day  through 
selfishness,  or  through  thoughtlessness  ?  What 
happy  and  glorious  experiences  have  we  had  to- 
day in  any  way  ?  I  do  not  think,  my  child  friends, 
that  I  am  dreaming  an  impossible  dream  when  I 

[  119] 


let  myself  hope  there  is  some  one  to  whom  this 
thought  is  a  new  thought;  some  one  who  says, 
"I  never  thought  before  of  looking  at  one  day  in 
this  way,  of  thinking  it  over,  its  joy  or  its  hard- 
ship, its  good  or  its  evil ;  and  above  all  of  asking 
Jesus  to  come  in  and  stay  with  me  while  I  think 
the  day  over.  Instead  of  this  I  have  lived  along 
day  after  day,  week  after  week,  without  thinking 
much  of  anything  about  where  I  am,  or  what  I 
am  doing,  or  what  I  am  failing  to  do."  Oh,  my 
friend,  then,  if  you  have  not  thought  of  this  be- 
fore, let  this  Easter  eventide  sunset  bring  to  you 
the  Sunset  thought,  making  you  see  that  each 
day  of  life  is  precious  and  ought  not  to  be  let  go 
without  our  understanding  just  what  it  has  been 
to  us,  —  a  wasted  day,  or  an  earnest  day,  or  a 
patient  day,  or  a  glorious  day,  or  what. 

Towards  evening  comes  the  Shadow  thought, 
to  tell  us  that  we  cannot  have  all  sunshine  in  our 
life.  No  one  can  keep  the  shadows  away;  they 
will  come.  You  may  stop  every  clock  in  the  house 
at  noon;  you  may  open  every  window  and  pull 
up  all  the  shades ;  but  all  the  same,  the  shadows 
creep  on.  And  so  they  will  creep  into  your  lives, 
—  shadows  of  care,  shadows  of  sickness,  shad- 
ows of  anxiety,  shadows  of  weariness,  shadows 
[  120  ] 


of  sorrow.  And  how  early  the  shadows  begin  to 
fall  into  some  lives.  Do  you  not  think  I  know 
something  about  this.?  I  rather  think  I  know 
something  about  it.  And  it  is  right  for  me  to 
speak  of  it  now.  It  will  not  make  the  shadows 
come  any  more  quickly  to  speak  about  them, 
and  perhaps  it  will  help  some  young  life  into 
which  shadow  has  already  fallen.  Do  not  be 
frightened,  do  not  be  discouraged  if  some  shadow 
of  pain  or  sorrow  has  fallen  upon  you.  There  is 
that  dear  risen  Friend  right  by  your  side.  Ask 
Him  to  enter  your  life  and  stay  with  you.  Say  to 
Him :  Abide  with  me,  blessed  Saviour,  for  I  am 
beginning  to  know  the  meaning  of  Shadow. 
Strengthen  me,  keep  me  from  fear,  make  me 
brave  and  patient. 

Towards  evening  comes  the  Supper  thought, 
to  remind  us  of  home  life  and  the  gathering  of 
the  family.  Perhaps  the  members  of  the  family 
have  been  separated  all  day  long.  Your  father 
has  been  at  business ;  your  mother  has  had  her 
many  duties;  school  life,  friendships,  work, 
games,  all  sorts  of  things  have  taken  up  the  day 
for  each  one ;  but  now  towards  evening  one  after 
another  comes  in,  and  at  the  evening  meal  all  are 
gathered  together.  What  you  want  to  do  now  is 
[  121  ] 


to  carry  with  you  into  that  home  circle  brightness 
and  love.  You  want  to  be  in  your  home  the  sort 
of  influence  that  does  the  right  and  the  needed 
thing  for  each  one.  I  tell  you  it  is  a  great  thing  to 
have  a  home  life,  and  you  want  to  be  worthy  of  it. 
One  of  the  family  is  wearied  and  worried;  you 
want  to  be  the  sort  of  spirit  that  always  calms 
and  rests  and  never  irritates.  Another  is  very 
happy;  and  you  want  to  show  hearty  sympathy 
with  joy.  Another  is  sick;  and  you  want  to  be 
the  son  or  the  daughter  or  the  brother  or  the 
sister  of  consolation.  You  want  to  go  about  in 
your  home  a  strength  maker,  a  peacemaker.  How 
can  you  be  all  this  ?  I  do  not  know  unless  you 
do  take  the  Lord  Jesus,  that  great  risen  Friend, 
right  into  your  home,  where  He  is  so  willing  to  go. 
Let  His  influence  be  upon  you  at  the  evening 
meal,  at  the  morning  meal ;  always,  everywhere. 
Then  what  a  blessed  ministry  yours  will  be,  and 
what  peace  and  joy  will  be  yours. 

Towards  evening  comes  the  Shelter  thought. 
Think  what  it  must  be  to  have  no  home  to  go  to, 
no  place  to  find  a  shelter  at  night;  to  be  like  the 
poor  wanderers  on  the  streets  who  have  not 
where  to  lay  their  heads.  Instead  of  this  you  have 
a  shelter  always  waiting  for  you,  where  you  can 
[  122  ] 


lie  so  safely  and  listen  to  the  storm  howling  out- 
side, and  wherever  you  have  to  go  during  the  day, 
you  have  always  that  resting-place  waiting  for 
you  towards  evening.  And  oh!  let  me  whisper 
to  you  this  sweeter  thought :  never  forget  that  this 
night,  every  night,  the  risen  Lord  is  the  shelter 
of  your  soul.  Wherever  you  have  been  during  the 
day,  yes,  though  your  feet  have  wandered  where 
they  should  not  go,  and  your  hands  have  touched 
what  they  should  have  let  alone,  and  your  lips 
have  spoken  words  which  ought  never  to  have 
crossed  them,  Jesus  is  your  shelter.  Take  refuge 
every  night  in  the  secret  place  of  the  most  High, 
and  dwell  under  the  shadow  of  the  Almighty. 

Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me, 

Let  me  hide  myself  in  Thee. 

Let  the  water  and  the  Blood, 

From  Thy  riven  side  which  flowed, 

Be  of  sin  the  double  cm^e, 

Cleanse  me  from  its  guilt  and  power. 

Last  of  all :  towards  evening  comes  the  Sleep 
thought,  telling  you  that  God  in  His  great  mercy 
is  giving  you  this  preparation  of  rest  and  sleep  for 
another  day.  I  think  the  best  preparation  for 
another  day  is  to  let  the  thought  of  Jesus  be  the 
last  that  consciously  abides  with  us,  as  we  leave 
[  123  ] 


the  ended  day  behind  us,  really  to  "fall  asleep 
in  Christ";  to  fall  asleep,  with  our  soul  that  has 
asked  and  received  the  forgiveness  of  sins,  set 
hopefully  and  trustfully  forward  to  meet  the  day 
which  is  to  be  —  to  meet  it  with  Christ,  that  we 
may  enter  it  with  Him  when  it  comes,  that  we 
may  live  with  Him  through  all  its  busy  hours,  and 
that  we  may  still  be  with  Him  when,  at  sunset, 
to-morrow  too  shall  pass  away.   Amen. 


St.  Matthew  7  :  7 

To-morrow  will  be  the  first  day  of  June.  The 
heat  of  the  summer  will  soon  be  here.  The 
schools  will  close.  The  long  vacation  will  begin. 
Many  of  you  will  go  away,  to  spend  weeks  and 
months  in  the  beauteous  country.  And  this  is 
my  chance  to  say  to  you,  "Good-by";  "God 
bless  you";  "God  be  with  you";  — to  say  to 
you  the  verse  which  my  own  little  children  have 
learned :  "  Mizpah :  the  Lord  watch  between  me 
and  thee,  when  we  are  absent  one  from  another." 
I  do  say  **  God  bless  you,  keep  you,  watch  over 
you,  guide  you,  when  we  are  absent  one  from 
another." 

And  now,  I  have  a  message  for  you ;  and  I  do 
ask  you  to  listen  very  attentively  while  I  give  it. 
This  message  is  given  to  me  to  give  to  you.  It  is 
a  message  from  our  great  and  dear  Master,  Jesus 
Christ.  It  is  very  short.  It  is  contained  in  five 
words.  It  is  this :  Seek,  and  ye  shall  find.  And 
my  duty  this  afternoon  is  to  try  and  help  you  to 
[  125  ] 


understand  what  a  wondrous,  beautiful  message 
this  is  for  you  and  for  me. 

Now  how  shall  we  start,  in  trying  to  under- 
stand this  message  to-day  ?  I  think  the  best  way 
to  start  is  to  try  and  find  out  just  what  this  word 
"seek"  means.  **Seek,"  says  Jesus,  "and  ye 
shall  find."  I  think  I  can  make  you  all  under- 
stand what  Jesus  means  when  He  says  "seek," 
if  I  tell  you  about  some  of  the  different  ways  in 
which  the  word  "seek"  can  be  used.  There  is  a 
game  which  I  suppose  we  have  all  played,  at 
some  time  or  other.  It  is  called  "  blind-man's 
buff."  You  know  how  it  is  done.  You  choose  one 
person,  and  you  bind  a  handkerchief  over  his 
eyes,  and  then  you  make  him  seek  the  other 
persons  in  the  room.  And  of  course  the  fun  of 
the  game  is  to  make  it  as  hard  as  possible  for 
the  person  who  is  seeking,  by  keeping  his  eyes 
closed,  and  preventing  him  from  looking.  And 
of  course  he  just  gropes  about  in  the  room,  and 
falls  over  the  furniture,  and  the  chances  are  it  is 
a  long  time  before  he  finds  any  one.  There,  you 
see,  you  shut  out  the  light.  You  keep  your  eyes 
closed  with  the  handkerchief,  and  the  game  is  to 
make  it  hard  for  yourself  to  find  anybody.  It  is 
make-believe  seeking,  not  real  seeking.  You  go 
[  126] 


through  the  form  of  seeking,  but  everybody 
knows  it  is  not  real  seeking,  because  you  are 
keeping  your  eyes  bound  up  in  a  handkerchief. 

Then  there  is  another  kind  of  seeking.  Not 
long  ago  some  friends  of  mine  went  to  a  certain 
city,  and  stayed  at  a  certain  hotel.  They  had 
some  work  to  do  in  that  city,  and  when  it  was 
done  they  tried  to  find  their  hotel.  They  went  up 
this  street  and  down  that  street,  but  no  hotel 
could  be  found;  they  wandered  till  they  were 
quite  tired,  and,  strange  to  say,  they  did  not  ask 
anybody  to  tell  them  the  way  to  the  hotel.  Per- 
haps they  were  ashamed  to  ask,  or  there  may 
have  been  some  other  reason.  But  they  did  not 
ask,  and  they  were  quite  tired  out  with  seeking. 
As  last  they  called  a  cabman,  and  told  him  to 
drive  to  this  hotel.  He  laughed  as  they  got  into 
his  carriage.  And  what  did  he  do  ?  He  just  took 
them  around  the  corner,  and  there  was  the  hotel 
not  one  minute  away.  Now  you  see  the  mistake 
in  that  seeking  was  that  they  asked  no  questions, 
and  by  keeping  silent  they  made  things  harder 
for  themselves  and  wasted  a  great  deal  of  time. 

But  there  is  another  kind  of  seeking,  and  I 
will  tell  you  about  it.  Last  week  a  young  boy 
died,  fifteen  years  old.  His  parents  were  poor, 
•    [  127  ] 


and  it  had  never  been  his  lot  to  have  the  beautiful 
things  to  play  with  which  have  been  given  to  you, 
or  to  have  the  long  months  of  rest  by  the  shore  or 
in  the  hills  which  are  in  store  for  you.  And  he 
was  not  strong  in  body,  and  could  not  overcome 
his  sickness.  As  I  stood  beside  him  last  Monday, 
and  looked  on  his  thoughtful  face,  I  said  to  my- 
self :  "  My  boy,  if  you  had  lived,  you  would  have 
been  a  teacher  of  men.  I  wish  I  could  write  out 
the  story  of  your  boy-life,  for  the  sake  of  other 
children."  That  boy  was  a  thinker  and  a  seeker. 
To  seek  was  the  chief  purpose  of  his  life  —  to 
seek  for  the  reasons  of  things.  Though  so  young 
a  boy,  he  felt  that  he  was  living  in  a  wonderful 
world,  full  of  powers  of  strength  and  beauty,  and 
the  great  desire  of  his  heart  was  to  understand 
things.  And  that  desire  seemed  to  lift  him  above 
what  was  foolish  and  what  was  wrong.  He  did 
not  want  to  understand  such  things,  he  did  not 
ask  questions  about  them ;  he  did  not  seek  them. 
He  wanted  to  understand  the  works  of  God  —  the 
sun,  the  moon,  the  stars,  electricity,  light,  sound, 
heat ;  he  wanted  to  understand  the  working  of  the 
reason;  he  was  full  of  questions  and  he  asked 
them,  and  was  getting  his  answers,  and  although 
he  died  at  fifteen,  I  can  truly  say  that  his  life 
[  US  ]     ' 


could  be  well  expressed  in  these  words:  *'Seek, 
and  ye  shall  find." 

Now  perhaps  by  what  I  have  said  about  differ- 
ent kinds  of  seeking  you  have  been  helped  to 
understand  the  grandeur  of  the  idea  Christ  sets 
before  us  when  He  says,  "Seek,  and  ye  shall 
find."  Take  my  word  for  it  until  you  find  out 
for  yourselves  the  truth  of  what  I  am  now  about 
to  say.  As  you  go  on  farther  in  your  lives  you 
will  find  in  the  world  of  people  around  you  these 
three  kinds  of  seekers:  The  people  that  are 
blindfolded ;  the  people  that  are  ashamed  to  ask 
questions ;  the  people  that  are  seeking  with  their 
whole  heart  for  the  reasons  of  things.  You  will 
find  that  some  are  going  blindfolded.  They  keep 
their  eyes  shut  to  the  truths  that  lie  around  them. 
They  do  not  wish  to  know  them;  they  do  not 
wish  to  see  them.  It  is  true  they  read,  they  go 
to  school,  they  go  to  college,  and  you  would  say 
that  they  are  seeking ;  but  they  are  not  seeking. 
Like  the  person  who  plays  that  game  of  the  hand- 
kerchief tied  round  the  eyes,  it  is  make-believe 
seeking ;  they  do  not  really  want  to  find  out  the 
truth  about  things ;  they  are  willing  to  be  igno- 
rant; and  you  may  be  sure,  if  a  person  is  will- 
ing to  be  ignorant,  he  will  be  ignorant.  I  tell  you, 
[  129  ] 


Ci^e  ^ilUv  Cup 

my  dear  friends,  the  grander  forms  of  know- 
ledge do  not  come  and  show  themselves  to  you 
unless  you  want  to  see  them.  You  are  not  likely 
to  see  more  of  the  great  things  of  life  than  you 
care  about  seeing.  If  you  are  satisfied  to  live  with 
the  handkerchief  of  ignorance  tied  over  your 
eyes,  why,  so  be  it.  You  can  go  to  school  year 
after  year,  and  carry  your  books  back  and  forth 
and  look  like  a  seeker  after  truth;  but  it  is  all 
make-believe  seeking,  and  you  will  never  find 
much  that  is  worth  finding. 

Again,  as  you  go  on  farther  in  your  lives,  you 
will  find  those  who  would  indeed  be  glad  to  know, 
but  are  ashamed  or  afraid  to  ask.  Like  my  friends 
there  in  Boston,  who  wanted  to  find  the  hotel 
and  tired  themselves  out  searching  for  it,  but  were 
ashamed  to  ask,  although  one  question  would 
have  revealed  to  them  that  the  hotel  was  just 
around  the  corner.  I  believe  there  have  been  a 
great  many  people  who  would  have  been  stronger 
and  far  happier  all  their  lives  if  they  had  not 
for  one  reason  or  another  been  kept  back  from 
asking  questions.  There  are  no  doubt  some  who 
have  never  been  conscious  of  the  desire  or  the  need 
of  asking  questions.  But  there  are  a  great  many 
more  who  have  kept  the  questions  that  troubled 
[  130  ] 


^eeft 

them  shut  up  in  their  own  minds  and  have  never 
asked  them  openly  of  anybody.  There  are  differ- 
ent reasons  why  people  keep  their  questions  shut 
up  in  their  own  minds.  Some  keep  their  questions 
to  themselves  because  they  are  afraid  of  showing 
their  ignorance  by  asking.  That  is  a  mistaken 
fear.  That  is  a  kind  of  pride  which  I  do  not  think 
is  quite  right.  If  you  do  not  know  a  thing,  if  you 
are  troubled  about  a  thing,  be  not  ashamed  to 
seek  for  truth ;  rather  be  ashamed  if  you  do  not 
seek.  Some  keep  their  questions  to  themselves 
because  no  one  seems  to  take  any  interest  in  an- 
swering them.  I  am  afraid  sometimes  the  parents 
get  impatient  and  say : ''  Oh !  don't  ask  so  many 
questions."  I  hope  God  will  keep  me  from  saying 
that  to  my  children,  or  to  any  child  who  wants  to 
ask  me  a  question.  I  may  not  be  able  to  answer 
the  question,  but  I  hope  always  to  show  the  child 
that  I  want  to  answer  it ;  that  I  care  to  answer ; 
and  that  if  I  do  not  know  enough  to  answer  it 
now,  I  am  ready  to  join  the  child  in  asking  some 
one  else  to  answer  it.  But  then  there  are  others 
who  keep  questions  to  themselves  because  they 
think  it  is  wrong  to  have  any  such  questions  at 
all.  These  questions,  which  you  try  to  suppress 
because  you  think  them  wrong,  may  be  of  many 
[  131] 


kinds ;  but  I  have  in  mind  at  this  moment  partic- 
ularly questions  about  God,  questions  about  the 
Bible  as  the  Word  of  God,  questions  about  Christ 
as  the  divine  Saviour,  questions  about  religion, 
about  personal  duty.  I  think  I  know  quite  a  num- 
ber of  people  who  have  had  these  questions  at 
one  time  or  another,  and  who  have  simply  felt 
that  it  was  very  wrong  to  have  such  questions, 
and  they  have  tried  to  choke  them  back,  and 
lock  them  up,  and  have  gone  on  with  their  lives 
in  trouble  and  unrest.  Now  there  may  be  such 
a  person  here  to-day.  A  child  —  a  boy  whom  no 
one  imagines  to  be  troubled  with  any  religious  dif- 
ficulty ;  a  girl  whom  nobody  has  ever  thought  of 
as  giving  any  attention  to  such  things;  and  yet 
they  are  giving  attention  to  such  things,  and  these 
hard  questions  are  in  their  minds  and  they  are 
very  much  troubled  by  them.  Now  what  are  they 
to  do  about  them  ?  First  of  all,  do  not  feel  that 
you  must  keep  these  things  to  yourself,  as  if  they 
were  guilty  secrets.  They  are  not  guilty  secrets. 
These  difficulties,  or  these  doubts,  are  a  part  of 
your  experience.  What  does  Jesus  tell  you  ?  Does 
He  tell  you  you  have  no  business  to  be  asking 
questions  about  Himself  and  about  the  Bible,  and 
about  faith  and  prayer  ?  No !  He  does  not  tell  you 
[  132  ] 


anything  of  the  kind.  He  tells  you  to  go  on,  and 
meet  these  questions,  to  utter  them,  to  ask  them, 
and  to  see  if  anywhere  you  can  find  the  answers 
to  them.  Jesus  does  not  frown  on  you  for  having 
questions.  He  says:  "Ask,  and  ye  shall  receive; 
seek,  and  ye  shall  find;  knock,  and  it  shall  be 
opened  unto  you." 

I  have  now  spoken  of  two  *kinds  of  seeking 
which  are  mistaken  kinds :  the  blindfolded  seek- 
ing, which  is  nothing  but  a  make-believe  seeking, 
when  the  eyes  are  kept  shut;  and  the  seeking 
which  is  ashamed  or  afraid  to  ask  questions.  I 
shall  now  speak  but  a  few  moments  longer,  but 
in  these  few  moments  I  shall  try  to  lay  before  you 
what  I  believe  is  really  the  message  of  these  great 
and  beautiful  words  of  our  Lord  Jesus:  "Seek, 
and  ye  shall  find."  In  these  words,  as  I  have 
pondered  over  them,  I  have  seen  three  great 
truths  lying,  like  great  stones  lying  down  at  the 
bottom  of  a  clear  lake.  Did  you  ever  go  out  in  a 
boat  on  a  clear  lake,  when  there  is  not  a  breath  of 
wind  to  rujBfle  the  water ;  did  you  ever  stop  row- 
ing, and  wait  till  all  the  ripples  from  the  oars 
have  cleared  away,  and  then  lean  over  the  boat's 
edge  and  peer  down  into  the  still  water  ?  At  first 
you  cannot  see  much,  but  by  and  by  your  eyes 
[133] 


Ci^e  ^fltoet  Cup 

get  accustomed  to  looking  and  you  can  make  out 
objects  on  the  bottom.  There  is  a  great  round 
stone,  and  there  is  a  long  flat  stone,  and  there  is  a 
tuft  of  water  ferns  branching  and  waving  in  the 
bed  of  the  lake,  and  there  is  the  reddish  glimmer 
of  a  fish  darting  by.  So  I  have  looked  down  and 
down  into  these  deep,  still  words  of  Jesus,  *'Seek, 
and  ye  shall  find,"  —  I  have  wondered  if  any- 
thing was  down  in  the  depths  of  them  for  chil- 
dren, —  and  I  have  found  some  things  which  I 
would  like  to  showyou.  I  find  down  deep  in  these 
words  the  great  truth  that  you  were  made  for  the 
purpose  of  thinking  and  asking  questions.  God 
has  set  inside  of  each  of  you  this  wonderful  think- 
ing machine,  and  His  hand  has  set  it  going,  and 
nobody  has  any  right  to  stop  it.  What  a  marvel- 
ous machine  it  is,  the  thinking  machine.  Man 
with  all  his  skill  could  never  invent  such  a  ma- 
chine. God  has  put  one  of  these  beautiful  things 
inside  of  each  of  us.  What  an  inventor  God  is ! 
I  remember  going  on  one  occasion  through  the 
private  room  of  a  great  inventor.  Lord  Kelvin, 
in  Glasgow  University,  and  seeing  there  speci- 
mens of  each  of  his  inventions,  and  a  beautiful 
and  delicate  lot  of  things  they  were.  But  think, 
who  invented  the  thinking  machine  in  Lord 
[  134  ] 


Kelvin's  head  that  thought  out  all  these  inven- 
tions ?  God  has  given  each  of  you  one  of  these 
delicate,  beauteous  things,  and  has  set  them  in 
motion.  Of  course  disease  of  the  mind  sometimes 
comes  to  hurt  the  machine,  or  people  can  injure 
the  machine  by  bad  usage ;  but  I  speak  to  you  in 
whose  heads  this  beauteous  power  of  thought  is 
working  all  right.  And  when  this  machine  is 
working  all  right,  in  sl  child's  head,  it  is  turning 
out  new  thoughts  and  new  questions  all  the 
time. 

And  nobody  ought  to  blame  you  for  thinking, 
or  for  asking  questions,  or  for  wanting  to  know. 
I  know  a  certain  little  boy  and  girl,  and  how  they 
can  ask  questions !  there  is  nothing  the  matter 
with  their  thinking  machines,  and  I  hope  I  may 
never  be  so  careless,  or  so  foolish,  or  so  unjust  as 
to  tell  them  they  ought  not  to  think  about  diffi- 
cult and  puzzling  things.  And  I  do  want  to  have 
every  one  of  you  realize  that  you  have  a  right  to 
think  and  nobody  has  a  right  to  stop  your  think- 
ing :  only  when  you  get  to  thinking  thoughts  that 
puzzle  you  and  trouble  you,  do  not  feel  that  you 
must  keep  them  to  yourselves.  Seek  till  you  find 
some  one  who  cares  to  hear  what  you  are  think- 
ing, and  who  may  be  able  to  help  you. 
[  135] 


Cl^e  Oilier  Cup 

But  I  see  in  the  depths  of  these  clear  words  of 
Jesus,  *'Seek,  and  ye  shall  find,"  another  truth, 
lying  there  like  a  great  shining  stone.  It  is  this 
truth:  He  who  has  given  us  these  marvelous 
thinking  powers  has  given  us  marvelous  things 
to  think  about.  God,  who  made  the  wonderful 
eye,  made  also  the  wonderful  light  to  enter  into 
the  eye.  God,  who  made  your  mind,  has  made 
great  things  for  your  mind  to  work  upon.  You 
must  be  thinkers  to  be  worthy  of  yourselves  and 
of  the  things  God  has  given  you  to  think  of.  Let 
me  tell  you  some  things  God  has  given  for  you 
to  think  about.  Here,  for  example,  is  yourself. 
You  have  a  right  to  ask.  Who  am  I  ?  Where  did 
I  come  from  ?  What  am  I  here  for  ?  Where  am  I 
going  to  when  I  leave  here  ?  Here,  again,  is  the 
world  of  things  lying  around  you.  You  have  a 
right  to  study  the  makings  of  things,  and  the 
laws  of  things,  and  the  uses  of  things  —  to  ask; 
What  is  sound  ?  What  is  heat  ?  What  is  light  ? 
What  is  electricity  ?  How  do  the  flowers  grow  ? 
How  do  the  stars  move.^  Here,  again,  is  the 
world  of  people  around  you.  You  have  a  right 
to  ask:  Did  God  make  people  poor  or  rich.? 
WTiat  is  sin.?  What  is  sorrow.?  What  is  to  be- 
come of  people.?  Can  I  do  anything  for  them? 
[  136] 


Here,  again,  is  the  Bible.  You  have  a  right  to  ask: 
Where  did  this  book  come  from  ?  Who  made  it  ? 
Is  it  true  ?  Is  it  inspired  ?  How  do  I  know  it  is 
inspired  ?  Here,  again,  is  God  Himself.  You  have 
a  right  to  ask:  How  do  I  know  that  there  is  a 
God  ?  Is  Jesus  Christ  divine  ?  How  can  I  draw 
near  to  God  ?  Dear  child,  it  is  your  right  to  ask 
these  things.  Do  not  be  ashamed  or  afraid  to 
ask  these  questions.  Jesus  says,  **Seek."  Hear 
Him,  and  let  no  one  hold  you  back  from  seek- 
ing. 

Last  of  all,  I  find  in  this  precious  verse  a  pro- 
mise. He  who  gave  you  this  thinking  mind.  He 
who  gave  you  these  great  mysteries  in  the  world 
around  you,  in  the  Bible,  in  His  own  self,  to 
think  about,  He  says :  "  Seek,  and  ye  shall  find." 
For  God  Himself,  in  His  Holy  Spirit,  loves  to 
meet  the  thinking  child,  to  answer  his  questions, 
to  lead  him  on  in  the  great  path  of  truth.  Dear 
child,  never  be  discouraged.  God  will  never 
weary  of  your  questions.  Does  it  seem  to  you 
that  there  is  much,  very  much,  that  you  want  to 
know  and  do  not  know  ?  All  the  more  earnestly 
keep  on  seeking  to  know,  and  step  by  step  the 
path  of  light  will  unfold  as  you  press  into  it  with 
your  burning  questions.  Put  your  thoughts  into 
[  137] 


words.  Put  your  doubts   into  words.    Put  your 
hopes  and  your  longings  into  words.   Speak  out! 

Ask  —  and  you  shall  receive. 

Seek  —  and  you  shall  find. 

Knock  —  and  it  shall  be  opened  unto  you. 


Clje  JHesfiage  of  tfje  'Crees 

"  ?Cnb  ht  j^pafte  of  tteetf  " 
1  Kings  4  :  33 

At  this  season  of  the  year,  when  the  days  are 
growing  longer  and  the  sunshine  is  growing 
stronger;  when  every  now  and  then  we  have  a 
few  hours  in  the  middle  of  the  day  soft  and  sweet 
with  the  warmth  of  the  coming  spring,  many  of 
us  love  to  think  of  things  that  are  found  in  the 
country.  There  are  some  children  whom  I  know 
well,  and  with  whom  I  often  talk,  and  I  find  that 
nothing  delights  them  more  in  these  days  than 
a  talk  about  the  beautiful  earth  stretching  away 
from  the  great  city  in  meadow,  and  mountain,  and 
forest,  and  river,  and  sea.  If  it  were  not  for  these 
talks  and  these  thoughts,  one  might  almost  forget 
that  there  is  so  much  more  in  the  world  beside 
stone  pavements,  and  wet  streets,  and  furnace- 
heated  houses,  and  crowds  of  hurrying  people,  — 
might  almost  forget  how  still  and  calm  are  the 
woods ;  how  the  tide  runs  silently  in  from  the  sea, 
and  silently  out  to  the  sea  again;  how  the  fields 
of  corn  rustle  and  shine  in  the  warm  wind ;  how 
[  139] 


the  full  waves  wash  over  the  hard,  sand  floor,  and 
leave  it  polished  like  a  watery  mirror,  reflecting 
the  white  clouds ;  how  the  trees,  the  blessed  trees, 
stand  in  their  places,  grasping  the  firm  earth 
with  their  roots,  lifting  up  their  heads  in  the  sun- 
shine, and  waving  their  branches  in  the  breeze. 
It  would  be  a  great  loss  to  one's  life  not  to  love 
these  things  when  we  are  among  them,  not  to 
think  of  them  and  talk  of  them  and  love  them 
when  we  are  away  from  them.  The  love  of  such 
things  is  a  pure,  noble  love;  and  thoughts  about 
such  things  cannot  do  harm  to  us.  Jesus  Himself 
taught  us  to  "consider  the  lilies,"  and  to  "look  on 
the  fields."  And  when  we  remember  Who  it  is 
has  stretched  out  the  broad  sky  over  our  heads; 
Who  it  is  has  made  the  sea  and  owns  it;  Who  it 
is  causes  the  trees  to  rise  out  of  the  ground  and 
to  bring  forth  their  leaves  and  their  fruit  in  due 
season,  we  are  sure  that  the  love  of  these  things 
is  a  beautiful  love,  lifting  us  toward  God,  and 
leading  us  away  from  thoughts  and  affections 
selfish  or  untrue. 

It  was  said  of  Solomon,  the  wise  and  wealthy 

king  of  Israel,  that  God  gave  him  wisdom  and 

understanding  exceeding  much,  so  that  he  was 

wiser  than  all  men,  and  his  fame  was  in  all  na- 

[  140  ] 


Ci^e  jfttejsjsage  of  tl^e  Cteesi 

tions  round  about.  He  was  a  great  philosopher ; 
he  composed  wise  and  wonderful  sayings  about 
life  and  duty  which  were  called  proverbs;  there 
were  three  thousand  of  these  celebrated  sayings. 
He  was  also  a  great  poet,  having  composed  a 
thousand  and  five  songs.  Moreover,  he  knew 
about  animals  and  birds  and  fishes  and  reptiles. 
He  had  studied  these  things  as  works  of  God,  and 
could  describe  their  habits  and  their  uses.  This 
was  not  all.  Our  text  tells  us  that  he  knew  about 
and  talked  about  trees  from  the  largest  to  the 
smallest.  If  he  walked  out  in  the  forest  the  trees 
were  all  his  friends ;  he  knew  their  names,  their 
ways  of  growing,  their  different  woods,  the  uses 
which  could  be  made  of  them.  Often,  doubtless, 
he  thus  walked  through  the  forests  with  friends 
who  came  to  visit  him,  and  he  could  tell  them  the 
history  and  the  nature  of  every  tree,  and  every 
shrub,  and  every  vine.  "He  spake  of  trees,  from 
the  cedar-tree  that  is  in  Lebanon,  even  unto  the 
hyssop  that  springe th  out  of  the  wall."  How  this 
royal  botanist  must  have  loved  the  country,  — 
never  lonely,  never  lacking  for  something  to  do 
as  long  as  his  beloved  friends  the  trees  were  round 
about  him,  speaking  silently  to  his  life. 

Very  few  people  are  able  to  talk  about  trees  as 
[  141  ] 


the  learned  Solomon  talked  about  them.  Cer- 
tainly I  have  yet  learned  very,  very  little  of  those 
beautiful  forest-chronicles,  the  genealogy  and 
family  history  even  of  the  trees  that  cover  the 
hillsides  and  grace  the  meadows  of  New  York 
State  and  New  England;  and  when  one  goes  to 
the  Natural  History  Museum  in  New  York  and 
sees  specimens  of  ,the  hundreds  of  trees  growing 
in  American  forests,  one  feels  how  great  must  be 
the  knowledge  that  would  entitle  one  to  speak  of 
trees  scientifically.  But  every  one  may  love  the 
trees  and  may  speak  of  them  lovingly.  Every 
one  may  try  to  tell  what  the  strong,  beautiful 
trees  seem  to  say  to  us,  as  we  look  at  them,  about 
our  own  lives. 

I  need  not  tell  you  that  I  am  a  lover  of  trees. 
Among  the  noblest  things  in  creation,  the  things 
which  have  a  dignity  and  a  meaning  of  their  own, 
the  things  which  to  thoughtful  eyes  are  living 
parables  of  great  ideas,  I  would  name  the  trees. 
They  are,  to  me,  sometimes  almost  like  living 
persons;  in  their  companionship;  in  their  fa- 
miliar outline;  in  their  voice  when  the  wind 
speaks  through  them ;  in  their  growth  and  change 
from  year  to  year.  How  glad  I  should  be  if  there 
are  some  young  hearts  here  that  have  never 
[  142  ] 


Ci^e  pLmag^t  of  t^t  Creejs 

cared  much  for  trees,  or  thought  much  of  what 
trees  say  to  us,  who  shall  carry  from  this  sermon 
some  new  ideas  away  with  them  into  the  summer, 
and  think  them  over  again  in  those  long,  bright 
days,  lying  perhaps  in  the  shadow  of  some  mag- 
nificent tree,  and  gazing  up  among  its  branches, 
and  beyond  its  branches  to  the  magnificent  arch 
of  blue  overhead. 

I  shall  speak  now  to  you  of  the  nobleness  of 
trees,  then  of  the  wonderful  connection  between 
trees  and  the  Bible,  and  then  last  of  all  of  what 
the  tree  says  to  us  concerning  our  own  lives. 

How  noble  trees  are,  as  part  of  the  scenery  of 
earth !  Imagine  an  army  of  wood-cutters  sweep- 
ing over  the  land,  and  leveling  the  trees  from 
Maine  to  California.  Apart  from  the  change  of 
climate  which  would  follow  the  destruction  of 
forests,  the  land  would  have  lost  its  glory;  the 
shadowless  plains  would  lie  desolate;  the  moun- 
tains, once  forest  crowned,  or  rising  gloriously  out 
of  forests  like  cliffs  from  the  ocean,  would  stand 
stark  and  ghastly  against  the  sky. 

Think  of  the  nobleness  of  trees  in  midsummer, 

when  their  foliage  is  massed  in  great  billows  of 

green  which  roll  and  roar  like  the  sea  as  the  free 

wind  comes  pouring  upon  them.  I  seem  to  hear 

[  143] 


Ci^e  filter  Cup 

at  this  moment  that  cool  sound  of  those  blowing 
billows  of  leaves,  swept  by  the  summer  afternoon 
breeze,  and  it  makes  my  heart  leap  with  joy. 

Think  of  the  nobleness  of  trees  in  autumn, 
when  one  turns  under  the  frost  to  a  golden  yel- 
low, and  another  lights  up  into  a  fiery  red,  and 
another  melts  into  soft  russet,  and  the  pine-trees 
look  almost  black  against  the  mass  of  color,  and 
the  shoulders  of  the  hills  are  as  if  some  mighty 
hand  had  wrapped  them  about  with  the  shawls  of 
India. 

Think  of  the  nobleness  of  trees  in  winter,  even 
as  I  saw  them  three  weeks  ago  yesterday  as  I 
went  flying  up  through  Massachusetts  in  the 
express,  amidst  the  blazing  sunshine  of  a  frosty 
afternoon.  The  ground  was  covered  with  a  foot 
of  snow,  and  over  the  snow  a  rain  and  sudden 
frost  had  spread  an  icy  enamel  that  paved  the 
meadows  as  with  glittering  fields  of  mother-of- 
pearl.  The  leafless  trees  arose  grouped  in  groves 
and  in  forest  lines,  thirty  miles  long;  and  every 
tree-stem,  and  every  bough,  and  every  twig  in  all 
those  thirty  miles  of  forest  lines,  standing  forth  in 
the  light,  and  etched  against  a  cloudless  sky,  was 
covered  with  pure  ice ;  and  a  setting  sun,  which 
had  a  glory  like  the  glory  of  April,  poured  into  air 
[  144  ] 


Ci^e  jHejSjSage  of  ti^e  Creejs 

which  had  the  frost-bite  of  December  a  flood  of 
yellow  light  that  surged  through  these  crystal 
forests  till  they  seemed  more  a  vision  than  a 
reality. 

Think  of  the  nobleness  of  trees  in  the  spring- 
time, when  the  resurrection  miracle  is  being 
wrought  in  every  forest,  in  every  orchard,  on 
every  roadside.  Wonderful,  wonderful  beyond 
all  imagination  is  that  spectacle  of  awakening 
life  when  from  the  smallest  daisy  plant  to  the  top- 
most bough  of  the  loftiest  elm  life  is  running  free 
in  root  and  branch ;  when  buds  are  expanding  in 
the  sunshine  their  glittering  reds  and  greens; 
when  the  orchards  are  enveloped  in  clouds  of 
snowy  and  roseate  blossoms ;  when  the  air  is  alive 
with  fluttering  petals  and  delicious  with  waves  of 
subtle  fragrance.  "  Ah,"  said  a  friend  to  me  that 
Sunday  in  Massachusetts,  three  weeks  ago,  as 
we  stood  together  looking  on  the  solemn  beauty 
of  woods,  rising  in  purple  curves  out  of  untrod- 
den acres  of  snowdrift;  "Ah,"  said  he,  "this  is 
great."  But  to  me  the  trees  in  spring  are  yet 
greater.  When  I  see  them  breaking  forth  into 
joy,  in  that  holy  miracle  of  resurrection,  grow- 
ing more  full  and  rich  every  hour,  then  indeed  I 
realize  that  I  am  walking  in  my  Father's  house; 
[  145] 


Ci^e  ^(lier  Cup 

that  God  wants  me  to  grow  richer  in  the  power 
of  the  risen  life;  that  this  is  the  will  of  God, 
even  my  sanctification. 

Yes,  at  every  season  of  the  year  the  trees  have 
their  own  nobleness,  —  the  spring,  the  summer, 
the  autumn,  the  winter,  —  each  season,  as  it 
comes,  brings  out  some  special  attribute  of  no- 
bleness, in  these  noble  forms  of  God's  rich 
world. 

Have  you  ever  thought  of  some  of  the  many 
ways  in  which  trees  enter  into  the  Bible  and  stand 
rooted  in  its  truth,  teaching  us  great  lessons  of 
warning  or  of  hope  or  of  sacred  and  tender  re- 
membrance ?  It  sometimes  seems  to  me  as  if  the 
Bible  were  like  a  great  park  planted  with  mighty 
trees  that  flung  their  shadows  over  it.  At  each 
end  of  the  Bible,  the  first  book  of  the  Old  Testa- 
ment and  the  last  book  of  the  New  Testament, 
stands  a  great  tree.  In  the  Book  of  Genesis  is 
that  tree  of  knowledge  of  good  and  evil,  planted 
in  the  paradise  of  Eden,  that  tree  that  ever  stands 
associated  with  the  beginning  of  disobedience 
and  the  long  sorrow  of  wrongdoing.  In  the  Book 
of  Revelation  stands  that  blessed  and  beautiful 
tree  of  life,  planted  in  the  paradise  of  God  on 
high,  speaking  ever  to  our  minds  of  that  new  life 
[  146  ] 


when  sin  shall  be  no  more ;  that  bright  home,  of 
which  so  often  we  delight  to  sing, 

Where  light  and  life  and  joy  and  peace 
In  undivided  empire  reign. 

All  through  the  Old  Testament  history,  in  con- 
nection with  the  building  of  the  tabernacle  or  the 
temple,  the  trees  are  spoken  of  as  having  so  much 
meaning.  The  cedar -trees,  the  olive-trees,  the 
red  sandalwood-trees,  how  much  they  have  to  do 
with  Israel's  worship  of  God  and  Israel's  history. 
Even  now  as  we  turn  the  pages  it  seems  as  if  we 
could  almost  smell  the  spicy  odor  of  those  grand 
old  cedars  of  Lebanon,  as  if  we  could  almost  hear 
the  wind  that  David  heard  making  **  the  sound 
of  a  going  in  the  tops  of  the  mulberry-trees." 
In  the  New  Testament  there  is  many  a  tree 
standing  like  a  landmark  on  the  hills  of  time. 
There  stands  the  sycamore-tree,  up  into  which 
an  earnest,  eager  man  climbed,  little  caring 
whether  any  one  thought  he  were  doing  a  strange 
thing,  if  only  he  might  catch  sight  of  Jesus  as 
He  came  up  the  road.  There  is  that  fig-tree, 
standing  withered  and  dead,  struck  as  by  light- 
ning with  the  word  of  Jesus  :  "No  man  eat  fruit 
of  thee  hereafter  forever."  There  are  the  palm- 
[  147] 


trees  on  the  road  to  Jerusalem,  from  which  the 
branches  were  torn  that  men  might  wave  them 
before  the  blessed  Lord  as  He  rode  into  the  city 
where  He  was  soon  to  suffer  and  be  crucified. 
And,  dear  children,  can  we  ever  forget  that  again 
and  again  the  wooden  cross  on  which  our  dear 
Lord  suffered  is  called  a  "tree."  You  know  how 
tenderly  the  Apostle  Peter  says  of  the  death  of 
our  Lord:  "Who  His  own  self  bare  our  sins  in 
His  own  body  on  the  tree."  That  is  the  great 
tree  of  life  for  us !  Are  you  resting  to-day  in  its 
shadow  —  the  shadow  of  salvation  by  the  tree 
of  Calvary ! 

These  are  some  of  the  great  historic  trees  that 
wave  their  shadows  across  the  pages  of  our  Bibles. 
And  to  these  we  might  add  a  long  and  wonderful 
train  of  verses  in  which  our  life  is  compared  in 
some  way  to  a  tree ;  and  since  I  have  known  and 
appreciated  the  beauty  of  these  verses  it  has  been 
a  new  and  richer  thing  for  me  to  be  in  the  coun- 
try, out  among  the  glorious  trees.  Trees  speak  to 
me  now  in  a  voice  which  I  did  not  recognize  until 
I  learned  these  exquisite  tree-verses  of  the  Word 
of  God. 

Will  you  let  me  remind  you  of  a  few  of  these 
tree-verses.  Perhaps  you  will  put  them  away  in 
[  148] 


your  memories  and  think  of  them  again  this 
summer,  out  among  the  trees. 

The  first  one  tells  us  about  those  to  whom  the 
gospel  truly  comes,  the  good  tidings  of  the  love 
of  Jesus.  It  is  said  in  Isaiah:  "That  they  might 
be  called  trees  of  righteousness,  the  planting  of 
the  Lord,  that  He  might  be  glorified."  That  has 
come  to  be  to  me  a  very  dear  and  beautiful  verse. 
It  compares  a  life  to  a  tree  which  Christ  has 
planted,  which  He  is  looking  after  and  watching 
and  taking  care  of,  waiting  till  it  grows  up  for  His 
glory  so  that  He  can  take  delight  in  its  strength 
and  its  fruitfulness.  I  have  a  little  piece  of  land  in 
a  certain  place,  and  on  that  land  I  have  set  out 
some  trees ;  they  are  young  and  small  yet,  but  it 
is  a  great  pleasure  to  see  them  grow,  to  take  care 
of  them,  and  to  think  that  some  day  they  may 
be  tall  and  strong,  with  far-spreading  branches. 
The  other  day  I  was  looking  them  over;  and  it 
was  such  a  pleasure  to  find  that  every  one  of  them 
had  stood  the  winter  frosts  and  the  heavy  gales ; 
and  to  find  that  the  buds  were  swelling,  and 
almost  ready  to  burst  forth  in  leaves.  And  I  felt  a 
very  special  and  affectionate  interest  in  those  trees, 
as  trees  that  I  had  chosen  and  planted  in  my 
own  ground. 

[  149  ] 


There  are  many  lives  in  this  church  this  after- 
noon that  I  feel  very  sure  are  trees  of  Christ's 
own  planting.  He  has  planted  you  in  the  great 
garden  of  His  church,  and  He  is  watching  over 
your  growth  with  a  most  loving  care  and  hope. 
Jesus  hopes  that  you  will  grow  up  to  be  strong 
and  noble  trees,  bringing  forth  much  fruit.  What 
a  comfort  it  is  to  feel  that  we  belong  to  Christ, 
that  we  are  not  wild  trees,  with  no  one  caring 
whether  we  grow  up  in  the  right  way  or  not.  We 
are  Christ's  trees,  and  He  expects  us  each  year 
to  spread  out  the  branches  of  a  wider  influence 
and  to  bring  forth  more  fruit,  that  He  may  be 
glorified.  Oh !  how  precious  are  your  lives !  You 
do  indeed  seem  like  fair  trees  planted  in  a  fair 
garden.  I  watch  your  growth  with  far  more 
earnest  and  loving  care  than  I  watch  for  the 
growth  of  my  trees  in  the  country.  Just  as  the 
branches  of  a  growing  tree  cast  longer  and  longer 
shadows,  I  have  seen  some  of  you  beginning  to 
bear  beautiful  fruit  of  loving  service  for  the  glory 
of  Christ.  I  often  ask  myself  what  will  you  be, 
where  will  you  be,  ten  years,  fifteen  years  hence, 
still  standing,  I  trust,  strong  and  fair  and  fruit- 
ful, in  Christ's  garden,  the  planting  of  the  Lord, 
that  He  may  be  glorified.  And  then  there  are  some 
[  150] 


Ci^e  jHejsjiage  of  ti^e  ^vm 

dear  lives  here  to-day  that  I  so  long  to  see  planted 
in  the  garden  of  Christ.  They  seem  to  be  growing 
up  outside,  away  from  the  rest  and  out  among 
the  wild  trees.  I  know  Christ  is  seeking  you,  and 
has  got  His  eye  upon  you.  I  know  that  He  wants 
to  transplant  your  lives  into  His  own  garden.  I 
wish  that  you  might  let  Him  have  you  now,  be- 
fore you  have  grown  any  older.  It  is  harder  to 
transplant  trees  as  they  grow  older;  now  is  the 
time  for  many  of  you  to  come  into  Christ's 
garden. 

There  is  another  grand  tree-verse  which  I 
want  to  mention.  It  is  found  in  the  first  psalm. 
It  is  the  picture  of  a  strong,  true,  useful  life. 
These  are  the  words:  "Blessed  is  the  man  that 
walketh  not  in  the  counsel  of  the  ungodly,  nor 
standeth  in  the  way  of  sinners,  nor  sitteth  in  the 
seat  of  the  scornful.  But  his  delight  is  in  the 
law  of  the  Lord ;  and  in  His  law  doth  he  meditate 
day  and  night.  And  he  shall  be  like  a  tree 
planted  by  the  rivers  of  water,  that  bringeth 
forth  his  fruit  in  his  season;  his  leaf  also  shall 
not  wither;  and  whatsoever  he  doeth  shall 
prosper."  Often  I  have  been  walking  in  the 
country,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  field,  near,  per- 
haps, to  a  bright  meadow-brook,  I  have  seen  a 
[  151  ] 


tree  of  royal  beauty  —  an  oak,  or  an  elm,  or  a 
maple.  So  strong  its  trunk,  so  powerful  its  roots, 
so  graceful  its  outline,  so  rich  its  foliage,  I  have 
stopped  in  admiration.  *'What  a  superb  tree! 
it  seems  to  be  everything  that  a  tree  ought  to 
be." 

And  sometimes  I  see  a  life  that  reminds  me  of 
one  of  those  superb  trees ;  so  strong,  so  steadfast, 
so  deeply  rooted,  so  close  to  the  living  water,  so 
well  rounded,  so  wide  in  the  circle  of  its  influence, 
so  lofty  in  the  reach  of  its  uppermost  branches, 
and  I  say,  what  a  superb  life.  It  is  like  a  great 
tree.  And  that  is  exactly  what  the  Bible  says 
about  a  life  that  will  not  go  with  the  wicked,  that 
will  not  keep  company  with  those  who  scorn 
holy  things,  that  delights  in  God's  law  and  loves 
to  think  of  the  right.  Such  a  life  is  like  a  superb 
tree. 

Perhaps  this  summer  some  boy  will  be  walk- 
ing in  the  country,  and  may  see  standing  in  a 
rich  meadow  one  of  these  superb  trees.  As  he 
stops  to  admire  it,  let  him  think  of  the  words  of 
the  Psalm:  **And  he  shall  be  like  a  tree."  Let 
him  ask :  Why  may  not  my  life  be  like  a  beau- 
teous tree  —  strong,  deeply  rooted,  well  rounded, 
wide  spreading,  reaching  high  up  into  the  light 
[  152] 


Ci^e  jaejSiSage  of  tl^e  CreejS 

and  the  free  air?  Let  him  ask  this  question;  let 
him  answer  it  thus :  By  Christ's  help  I  will  be 
like  the  tree  planted  by  the  rivers  of  water,  that 
bringeth  forth  its  fruit  in  its  season,  and  whose 
leaf  does  not  wither. 

And  now,  at  the  end  of  this  sermon,  let  me  give 
you  two  thoughts  from  the  New  Testament  to 
tell  you  how  your  life  can  be  like  the  tree,  in  its 
strength,  its  steadfastness,  its  usefulness. 

One  thought  is  this:  "Rooted  in  Him."  That 
is,  taking  root  in  Christ.  Let  the  very  roots  of 
your  life,  your  faith,  your  thought,  your  ideals  of 
living,  fix  themselves  in  Christ.  I  tell  you  the 
deep-rooted  tree  is  the  tree  that  still  stands  and 
waves  its  branches  in  the  sunlight  after  the 
winter  gales  are  over.  And  the  Christ-rooted  life 
is  the  life  that  is  not  blown  down  in  the  hurri- 
canes of  temptation  that  blow  upon  us  in  the 
days  of  our  youth. 

And  then  this:  "Growing  up  into  Him  in  all 
things."  The  great  strong  tree  obeys  a  great 
strong  law  —  Upward,  See  how  it  is  rising  from 
year  to  year,  how  its  branches  spread  on  higher 
levels,  and  its  crest  gleams  in  fuller  sunlight. 
So  you.  Upward  —  into  Christ  —  unto  Christ. 
Farther  and  farther  from  the  dark  thickets  of  sin 
[  153] 


Ci^e  filter  €nv 

and  untruth.  Upward  into  Light.  Christ  bless 
you.  The  Holy  Spirit  keep  you.  May  your  life 
be  strong  as  a  cedar  on  earth;  victorious  as  a 
palm  in  Paradise.   Amen. 


91  Comtnanti 

"  ^batj^oeber  ^t  j^aitft  unto  gou,  Do  it." 
St.  John  2  :  5 

The  words  of  our  text  were  spoken,  as  you 
may  remember,  by  the  mother  of  Jesus.  She 
spoke  them  to  the  servants  in  a  house  where 
Jesus  was  attending  a  wedding.  The  wine  was 
all  used  up,  and  the  servants  were  troubled,  for 
they  did  not  know  what  to  do.  They  told  the 
mother  of  Jesus  what  had  happened,  and  she 
was  sure  that  in  some  way  Jesus  would  help 
them  out  of  the  difficulty.  She  did  not  know  in 
what  way  He  would  supply  the  need,  so  she  told 
the  servants  simply  to  go  to  Him,  and  to  do  what- 
ever He  told  them  to  do.  She  said,  *'  Whatsoever 
He  saith  unto  you,  do  it." 

To-day,  I  just  want  to  take  those  words  by 
themselves,  "Whatsoever  He  saith  unto  you,  do 
it,"  and  to  give  them  to  you.  A  good  way  to 
make  the  thought  clear  is  to  divide  it  into  parts, 
and  to  make  each  part  clear ;  then,  if  each  part 
of  the  thought  is  clear,  the  whole  thought  will  be 
clear.  I  will  then  divide  my  thought  into  four 
[  155  ] 


Ci^e  filter  Cup 

parts,  and  try  to  make  each  part  clear.  First: 
You  have  soraething  to  do,  in  the  world.  Second : 
You  do  not  know  what  the  right  thing  to  do  is 
unless  you  are  told.  Third:  Jesus  has  power  to 
tell  you  what  to  do.  Fourth :  Whatever  He  tells 
you  to  do,  do  it. 

The  first  part  of  my  thought  is  this :  You  have 
something  to  do,  in  the  world.  Now  I  can  ima- 
gine that  some  of  you  think  it  very  strange  of  me 
to  say  such  a  simple  thing  as  that.  "  Something 
to  do,"  you  say;  "  why  of  course  I  have  something 
to  do.  I  have  any  amount  of  things  to  do.  I  have 
my  home  duties,  and  school  duties,  and  my  mu- 
sic, and  my  pleasures,  and  all  sorts  of  things  to 
do.  In  fact,  I  am  just  as  busy  as  I  can  be  all  the 
time.  Why  do  I  need  to  be  told  that  I  have  some- 
thing to  do.^"  Wait  a  minute,  dear  friend,  and 
let  me  explain  myself.  I  know  that  you  have  a 
great  many  things  to  do,  that  you  are  a  busy 
girl,  or  a  busy  boy.  But  it  is  not  exactly  that 
which  I  mean,  in  saying,  "You  have  something 
to  do,  in  the  world."  I  mean  this :  There  is  one 
great  and  mighty  and  holy  Being  Who  has  sent 
you  into  this  world,  not  simply  with  the  idea  that 
you  would  live  on  and  on  a  certain  number  of 
years,  doing  anything  that  happened  to  come  up 
[  156] 


a  CommanD 

at  the  moment  and  following  out  your  own 
fancies.  He  put  you  here  because  He  has  some- 
thing for  you  to  do.  There  is  a  reason  for  your 
being  alive.  God  knows  what  He  wants  you  to 
be,  and  what  He  wants  to  do  with  you.  He  has  a 
plan  which  He  would  like  to  work  out  through 
you.  You  cannot  imagine  that  God  just  put  you 
in  this  world  for  nothing ;  that  He  gave  you  your 
beautiful  life  just  for  nothing,  and  that  He  never 
thinks  of  what  you  are  doing,  or  of  what  becomes 
of  you. 

When  I  plant  the  flower  seeds  in  my  garden  at 
the  beginning  of  summer,  I  do  it  with  a  purpose 
in  view.  I  am  not  satisfied  when  I  have  put  the 
seeds  in  the  ground.  That  is  not  the  reason  for 
which  I  bought  the  seeds.  I  do  not  go  away  and 
think  no  more  about  my  flower  seeds.  On  the 
contrary,  I  planted  every  one  of  those  seeds  for  a 
certain  object.  I  have  a  plan  and  a  hope  and  an 
expectation  about  those  seeds.  And  day  by  day  I 
water  the  ground  where  they  are  planted,  until 
they  begin  to  appear,  and  then  I  watch  their 
growth,  and  I  take  care  of  them,  waiting  till  they 
shall  bring  forth  the  lovely  flowers  to  obtain 
which  I  was  led  to  plant  the  seeds.  So  God  who 
planted  you  in  this  world  is  waiting  and  watching 
[  157] 


for  those  results  in  your  character  and  in  your 
work  in  which  He  takes  delight,  and  He  desires 
to  help  you  all  He  can  by  shedding  upon  you  the 
sunshine  of  Christ's  love,  and  by  watering  your 
spirit  with  the  gracious  influence  of  His  Spirit; 
and  He  is  waiting  in  His  Love  to  see  your  life 
fulfilling  the  plan  He  has  for  it,  and  doing  all 
the  work  He  has  given  you  to  do. 

Now  it  is  one  of  the  most  precious  encourage- 
ments God  has  given  me  in  my  ministry  to  see  so 
many  young  lives  waked  up  to  this  thought  and 
seeking  to  do  the  will  of  their  Father  which  is  in 
heaven.  I  thank  God  daily  for  the  company  of 
young  boys  and  young  girls  who  realize  that  they 
have  something  to  do  for  God  in  this  world,  and 
who  are  trying  to  find  out  what  that  something  is. 
But  I  am  very,  very  anxious  for  some  others  who 
do  not  seem  to  realize  yet  that  there  is  anything 
for  them  to  do  for  their  Heavenly  Father.  Some 
of  them  have  everything  to  make  them  happy 
and  every  advantage  of  education,  and  they  are 
as  busy  as  they  can  be  with  studies  and  pleasures 
and  plans;  but  nothing  in  their  life  shows  that 
they  want  to  find  what  the  will  of  God  for  them 
is,  and  what  He  would  have  them  to  do.  And  in 
coming  to  this  service  to-day  I  have  prayed  to  be 
[  158  ] 


a  Commanli 

guided  that  I  might  say  the  right  word,  and  that 
some  who  have  never  caught  this  thought  before, 
and  who  are  living  only  to  please  themselves, 
might  begin  to  ask,  "  What  does  God  want  me  to 
do  with  my  life  ?  Lord,  what  will  Thou  have  me 
to  do?" 

I  think  that  I  have  made  the  first  part  of  our 
thought  clear,  namely,  that  "You  have  some- 
thing to  do,  in  this  world."  If  this  is  clear,  let  us 
go  to  the  second  part  of  our  thought,  which  is 
this  :  You  do  not  know  what  the  right  thing  to  do 
is,  unless  you  are  told.  It  is  a  strange  mistake 
that  many  people  make,  in  venturing  to  live  their 
lives,  their  precious  lives,  without  coming  to  Him 
who  alone  can  tell  them  what  is  the  right  thing  to 
do  with  their  lives.  It  seems  so  strange  that  peo- 
ple make  this  mistake  with  their  lives,  the  most 
valuable  thing  they  have,  when,  even  in  little 
things,  they  are  so  quick  to  find  out  a  teacher 
able  to  tell  them  what  they  want  to  know.  If  we 
want  to  study  French  or  German,  the  first  thing 
we  do  is  to  get  a  teacher.  If  we  want  to  study  art, 
we  get  a  teacher.  If  we  even  want  to  know  how  to 
play  a  game,  we  get  some  one  to  teach  us.  If  in 
these  simple  matters  we  require  teachers,  and 
seek  them  out  as  a  matter  of  course,  it  is  surely  a 
[  159  ] 


sad  mistake  to  think  of  letting  our  life  drift  on 
carelessly,  through  months  and  years,  without 
coming  to  the  One  who  alone  can  truly  tell  us 
what  to  do  with  our  life.  One  must  have  the 
great  Teacher.  The  fact  is  we  do  not  know  how 
to  make  the  best  use  of  ourselves.  And  the  rea- 
son of  that  is  we  ourselves  are  sinful;  our  own 
judgment  is  not  sufficient  to  guide  us.  It  is  one 
thing  to  get  an  education;  it  is  another  thing  to 
know  what  to  do  with  it  after  you  get  it.  It  is  one 
thing  to  train  your  talents  under  good  masters ;  it 
is  another  thing  to  know  how  to  use  your  talents 
after  they  are  trained.  That  knowledge  does  not 
come  of  itself.  We  have  to  be  told  what  to  do. 
And  we  have  to  go  to  the  teacher,  and  ask  Him 
to  tell  us.  There  is  a  hymn  which  expresses  the 
thought  exactly  that  I  have  in  mind;  it  is  the 
words  of  a  dear  child  who  wants  to  live  his  or  her 
life  so  as  to  accomplish  God's  plan  for  it;  who 
realizes  that  we  do  not  know  the  right  thing  un- 
less we  are  told;  who  is  unwilling  to  go  any  longer 
drifting  on  aimlessly,  and  who  comes  now  to  the 
blessed  Teacher,  putting  everything  into  His 
hands,  and  asking  to  be  taught  how  to  use  life 
so  as  to  glorify  God  in  everything.  I  wish  this 
hymn  might  be  committed  to  memory  and  made 

[  160] 


acotttttianti 

a  real,  true  prayer  to  Him  Who  alone  can  tell  us 
what  the  right  thing  is. 

Take  my  life,  and  let  it  be 
Consecrated,  Lord,  to  Thee. 

Take  my  moments  and  my  days, 
Let  them  flow  in  ceaseless  praise. 

Take  my  hands,  and  let  them  move 
At  the  impulse  of  Thy  love. 

Take  my  feet,  and  let  them  be 
Swift  and  "  beautiful,"  for  Thee. 

Take  my  voice,  and  let  me  sing 
Always,  only,  for  my  King. 

Take  my  lips,  and  let  them  be 
Filled  with  messages  from  Thee. 

Take  my  intellect,  and  use 

Every  power  as  Thou  shalt  choose. 

Take  my  will,  and  make  it  thine; 
It  shall  be  no  longer  mine. 

Take  my  heart;  it  is  Thine  own; 
It  shall  be  Thy  royal  Throne. 

Take  myself,  and  I  will  be 
Ever,  only,  a//,  for  Thee. 

Now,  if  the  second  part  of  our  thought  is  clear, 

let  us  go  to  the  third.  I  have  said  that  you  do  not 

know  what  the  right  thing  to  do  is  unless  you  are 

told  what  to  do  with  your  life,  and  I  have  spoken 

[161  ] 


of  coming  to  the  Teacher.  Let  me  now  say  a 
word  about  that  Teacher.  Jesus  has  power  to 
tell  you  what  to  do  with  your  life.  If  you  want  to 
know  what  my  real,  e very-day  thought  about 
Jesus  Christ  is,  I  will  try  to  tell  you. 

I  believe,  in  the  first  place,  that  you  and  I 
belong  to  Him.  We  are  not  our  own.  We  do  not 
belong  to  ourselves,  and  we  have  not  the  right  to 
go  and  do  all  sorts  of  things  with  our  lives,  fol- 
lowing any  fancy  we  may  happen  to  have.  You 
and  I  belong  to  Jesus  Christ.  But  how,  how  did 
He  get  possession  of  us  ?  By  doing  what  He  did 
on  the  cross  for  each  one  of  us.  You  know  what 
He  did;  I  need  not  tell  you.  That  dear,  won- 
drous act  of  unselfishness,  that  great,  willing  giv- 
ing up  of  Himself  for  us,  gave  Him  the  right  to 
consider  us  as  His  own.  Now  every  day  I  think  I 
feel  the  truth  of  that  more  and  more.  Instead  of 
growing  away  from  that  truth,  and  forgetting  all 
about  it,  I  think  of  it  more  and  more,  and  in  my 
plans,  and  in  the  use  of  what  things  God  has 
given  me  to  possess,  it  becomes  all  the  time  a 
more  real  thought:  "My  life  belongs  to  Christ." 

Then,  in  the  second  place,  I  believe  that  Christ 
wants  your  life  and  my  life  to  be  as  beautiful  as 
His.  His  was  certainly  the  most  strong,  full,  glo- 
[  162  ] 


31  Commanti 

riously  beautiful  life  ever  lived  on  the  earth.  And 
he  wants  you  and  me  to  follow  right  in  His  foot- 
steps and  live  just  as  rich  and  happy  a  life  as  He 
lived.  I  wonder  if  any  of  you  have  read  a  book 
which  years  ago  made  a  great  sensation  in  this 
country  and  in  England.  It  was  called  "Uncle 
Tom's  Cabin."  It  was  about  the  negro  slaves. 
It  told  how  some  white  people  used  to  own  poor 
black  people,  and  how  the  white  slave-owners 
used  to  keep  getting  richer  by  the  labors  of  their 
slaves,  while  the  slaves  were  kept  poor  and  igno- 
rant, and  many  of  them  were  treated  with  the 
greatest  cruelty.  I  remember  how  terribly  I  felt 
when  I  read  that  book  as  a  boy,  and  thought  how 
the  owners  of  the  slaves  were  so  rich  and  com- 
fortable, while  they  kept  their  slaves  poor  and 
made  them  live  like  animals.  Now  I  said  that 
you  and  I  belong  to  Jesus  Christ;  we  are  His 
servants.  Some  of  the  apostles  used  to  love  to 
call  themselves  the  "slaves"  of  Jesus,  to  show 
how  completely  they  belonged  to  Him.  But  Jesus 
wants  the  lives  that  belong  to  Him  not  to  be  poor 
and  wretched  and  living  like  animals,  as  the 
negro  slaves  in  the  old  days ;  He  wants  our  lives 
to  be  as  rich,  as  full,  as  free,  as  beautiful  as  His 
own  dear  life  is.  He  wants  to  lead  us  away  from 
[  163  ] 


all  things  that  would  make  us  wretched  and 
would  bring  us  into  bondage,  and  to  open  before 
us  a  path  of  living  which  is  the  most  free  and 
the  most  happy  in  all  the  world.  That  is  what 
He  wants  for  you,  dear  child.  You  are  Christ's 
own  dear  one,  and  His  thought  for  you  is:  "I 
want  my  child  to  know  all  the  beauty  of  living, 
not  to  lose  the  very  best  that  I  am  able  to 
give." 

But  I  believe  one  thing  more  about  Jesus,  and 
must  tell  you.  I  believe  that  He  will  guide  us  to 
use  our  life  in  exactly  the  right  way,  and  that  if 
we  allow  our  lives  to  be  under  the  influence  of 
His  Holy  Spirit  day  by  day.  He  will  cause  us  to 
grow  in  beauty  of  character,  in  the  right  develop- 
ment of  our  powers,  just  as  the  ferns  that  we  all 
love  so  much  grow,  and  unfold  and  expand  into 
all  their  delicate  loveliness  and  perfection.  When 
I  thought  about  what  flowers  I  should  place  in 
our  church  to-day  for  the  children's  service,  I 
felt  that  I  wanted  something  that  would  express 
a  beautiful,  silent  growth.  And  so  these  forest 
ferns  are  massed  here  on  either  hand  to-day  be- 
cause they  speak  to  us,  as  in  a  parable,  of  lives 
growing  silently,  and  unfolding  their  powers, 
under  the  holy  influences  of  the  Spirit  of  God. 
[  164  ] 


a  CommanD 

But,  my  dear  friends,  Jesus  Christ  can  only 
make  those  lives  beautiful  and  useful  that  are 
willing  to  be  guided  by  His  Spirit,  and  to  do  what 
He  tells  them  to  do.  If  any  one  is  simply  selfish, 
and  bent  on  going  their  own  way,  and  stubborn, 
and  hard-hearted,  that  growth,  that  unfolding  of 
which  I  have  spoken,  comparing  it  to  these  lovely 
ferns,  will  stop ;  it  will  not  go  on.  Christ  will  teach 
only  those  of  us  to  use  our  lives  aright,  who  are 
willing  to  be  taught,  and  who  are  ready  to  obey. 
And  so  the  last  part  of  our  thought  is  a  very 
necessary  part,  if  this  sermon  is  going  to  amount 
to  anything  as  a  helpful  influence  in  your  lives. 
Whatever  He  tells  you  to  do,  do  it.  The  words 
that  the  mother  of  Jesus  spoke  so  long  ago  at 
that  wedding  in  Galilee  are  the  words  we  want 
now:  "Whatsoever  He  saith  unto  you,  do  it."  I 
know  that  Jesus  does  speak  to  us,  by  His  Spirit, 
and  tells  us  many  things  intended  to  guide  our 
lives.  Perhaps  at  this  very  moment  He  is  so 
speaking  to  you.  It  may  be  He  is  telling  you  to 
give  up  something  you  have  been  in  the  habit  of 
doing.  He  is  saying,  just  as  plainly  as  if  a  voice 
were  speaking  aloud  to  you :  "  My  child,  give  up 
doing  this.  Stop  it.  Put  it  out  of  your  life.  It  is 
going  to  harm  you ;  to  keep  you  from  growing  up 
[  165] 


Ci^e  ^ilUt  Cup 

into  rich,  full,  beautiful  living.  I  beseech  you  to 
stop  it." 

Or  it  may  be  He  is  pointing  out  something  for 
you  to  do,  which  you  have  not  done.  "Begin," 
my  child,  "begin,"  He  says.  "You  need  this.  You 
are  losing  time  each  day  you  put  off  this  fresh  and 
sweet  beginning.  Your  life  will  not  grow  as  it 
ought  to  grow  until  you  begin  this  thing.  Do  not 
hesitate,  do  not  delay,  do  not  fear  to  begin."  So, 
to  one  and  to  another,  so  perhaps  to  every  one  of 
us,  Christ  is  speaking  now,  by  His  Spirit. 

Oh !  is  there  not  a  power  among  us  now,  as 
we  sit  here,  thinking,  thinking  so  earnestly  —  is 
there  not  a  power  among  us  that  is  pleading  with 
each  heart  to  obey  the  will  of  Christ !  Does  there 
not  seem  a  voice  —  a  still  small  voice  —  calling 
through  the  twilight,  solemnly,  tenderly,  saying: 
Whatsoever  He  saith  unto  you,  do  it!  Amen. 


Caster  Ctjentitie 

"  l^ot  unto  t})tm^zVtyz^y  but  unto  J^im  " 
2  Corinthians  5  :  15 

I  CANNOT  describe  to  you  how  dear  and  how 
precious  a  thing  it  is  to  my  soul,  to  speak  to  you 
freely  and  lovingly  on  this  Easter  eventide.  This 
day  is  so  wonderful  in  all  its  meanings  and  asso- 
ciations, from  early  dawn  to  the  evening  hour. 
It  is  simply  filled  with  the  glory  and  the  beauty 
of  Jesus. 

And  now  that  we  have  come,  in  the  progress  of 
this  blessed  day,  to  the  sunset  hour,  when  it  is 
toward  evening  and  the  day  is  far  spent,  let  us 
seek  to  yield  ourselves  to  the  same  influences 
which  hallowed  and  ennobled  the  eventide  hour 
on  the  first  Easter  day.  Those  were  influences 
of  companionship,  and  of  quiet,  earnest  talk. 
Jesus  walked  in  the  country  on  the  first  Sunday 
,  afternoon  of  His  risen  life.  How  He  loved  in 
great  moments  of  His  Life  to  get  away  into  the 
country  for  broad,  quiet  thinking.  He  took  the 
Wednesday  before  the  Crucifixion  and  spent  it 
away  off  in  the  country  —  the  quiet  time  before 
[  167] 


the  battle ;  and  now  that  the  victory  is  won  and  the 
strife  is  all  over,  almost  the  first  thing  He  does  is 
to  get  that  calm  Sunday  afternoon  walk  into  the 
country,  as  if  to  think  it  all  over,  beneath  the 
grand  arch  of  the  sky,  and  under  the  swinging 
clouds,  and  in  the  thought-stirring  glory  of  the 
afternoon  light.  And  there  you  know,  in  the 
country.  He  falls  in  with  the  two  disciples  bound 
for  Emmaus,  and  he  walks  on  beside  them,  talk- 
ing to  them,  out  of  the  fullness  of  His  life,  in  such 
a  manner  that  their  hearts  fairly  burn  within 
them.  And  I  wish  and  hope,  you  dear,  dear 
young  lives  gathered  here  at  the  same  hour  of 
Easter  day,  that  He  may  meet  us,  in  His  risen 
beauty,  and  walk  along  at  our  side,  and  talk  to 
our  very  hearts  until  they  too  burn  with  love,  and 
grand  desires,  and  deep  responses. 

What  would  be  the  most  natural  thing  for  Him 
to  talk  about  at  this  hour.?  I  suppose  the  very 
same  things  He  talked  about  on  the  road  to 
Emmaus  long  ago.  He  would  tell  us  why  He 
died,  and  why  He  has  risen  from  the  dead,  and 
what  His  death  and  His  rising  ought  to  mean  to 
us  for  whom  He  died  and  rose  again.  Particu- 
larly, I  think,  this  last:  what  His  death  and  His 
rising  ought  to  mean  to  us  for  whom  He  died  and 
[  168] 


rose  again.  There  is  a  meaning  in  His  dying  and 
His  rising  that  ought  to  change  our  lives,  that 
ought  to  make  our  way  of  living  different  from 
what  it  would  be  if  we  did  not  know,  or  if,  know- 
ing, we  did  not  believe  that  He  died  and  rose 
again  for  us.  Those  great  New  Testament  words 
describe  what  His  death  and  His  rising  ought  to 
mean  to  us.  *'He  died  for  all,  (why.^)  that  they 
which  live  (i.  e.  you  and  I  who  are  alive  now) 
should  not  henceforth  live  unto  themselves,  but 
unto  Him  Who  died  for  them,  and  rose  again." 
There  is  the  very  heart  of  the  idea,  —  "That  they 
which  live  should  not  henceforth  live  unto  them- 
selves, but  unto  Him."  "Not  unto  themselves, 
but  unto  Him."  That  is  surely  the  very  thing 
Christ  wishes  to  talk  about  with  us,  as  He  walks 
with  us,  in  His  Spirit,  this  Easter  eventide,  and 
opens  to  us  the  Scripture. 

How  ought  we,  who  believe  in  the  death  and 
resurrection  of  Jesus  Christ,  to  live  our  lives? 
One  answer,  and  one  only :  "Not  unto  ourselves, 
not  unto  ourselves,  but  unto  Him  Who  died  for  us, 
and  rose  again."  In  bringing  this  out  before  our 
minds,  as  I  think  it  ought  to  be  brought  out  at 
this  time,  there  appear  to  be  three  things  in  this 
verse  that  are  just  what  Christ  wants  to  say  to  us, 
[  169  ] 


Ci^e  filter  Cup 

and  I  know  that  He  can  say  these  three  things  in  a 
way  so  simple  that  you  cannot  fail  to  understand 
their  meaning,  and  in  a  way  so  grand  that  you 
cannot  fail  to  realize  their  power.  The  verse 
reads  thus  :  "He  died  for  all,  that  they  which  live 
should  not  henceforth  live  unto  themselves,  but 
unto  Him  Who  died  for  them,  and  rose  again." 

These,  then,  are  the  three  things  which  Christ 
wants  to  say  to  us  now  as  He  walks  with  us,  in 
His  Spirit,  toward  evening  on  the  day  of  His 
resurrection.  First :  That  He  died  for  all,  there- 
fore everybody  comes  in  for  this  Easter  message. 
Second :  The  spirit  of  the  old  life  which  we  are  to 
live  no  longer.  "That  they  which  live  should  no 
longer  live  unto  themselves."  Third :  The  spirit 
and  aim  of  the  new  life  which  we  are  henceforth 
to  live.  "That  they  which  live  should  henceforth 
live  unto  Him  Who  died  for  them,  and  rose  again." 

The  first  thing  He  wants  to  say  to  us  to-day,  as 
He  walks  with  us  in  this  calm,  thoughtful  hour, 
is,  that  He  died  for  all,  therefore  everybody  comes 
in  for  this  Easter  message. 

Almost  everything  you  can  think  of  that  man 

has  made  or  arranged  divides  people  up  into 

classes,  and  says  very  plainly.  This  thing  is  for 

some,  and  not  for  all.   When  you  go  on  board  a 

[  170] 


great  ocean  steamer  there  you  find  the  first  cabin, 
and  the  second  cabin,  and  the  steerage,  and 
probably  a  rope  stretched  across  the  deck  and  a 
sign:  *' Steerage  passengers  not  allowed  abaft  of 
this  line" ;  meaning  the  deck  is  not  for  all.  When 
you  go  into  one  of  our  great  graded  schools,  one 
room  is  for  the  primary  scholars,  another  for  the 
intermediate  scholars,  and  so  on.  A  poor,  home- 
less, penniless  man  stands  outside  of  one  of  our 
splendid  modern  hotels  and  he  says,  "That  place 
is  not  for  me."  A  rich  man  passes  the  City  Mis- 
sion Night  Shelter  and  says,  "That  place  is  not 
for  me."  So  civilization  divides  people  into 
groups  and  classes. 

I  am  sorry  to  say  religion  does  the  same  thing, 
to  some  extent,  though  not  perhaps  so  much  now 
as  in  former  days.  The  time  has  been  when  a 
Presbyterian  church,  or  a  Baptist  church,  or  an 
Episcopal  church  seemed  almost  to  say  to  a  man, 
by  its  way  of  putting  things :  This  church  is  not 
for  you,  unless  you  are  a  Presbyterian,  or  a  Bap- 
tist, or  an  Episcopalian,  as  the  case  may  be.  I 
think  we  are  getting  less  and  less  of  that  sort  of 
thing  every  day,  thank  God. 

But  every  bit  of  it  that  is  left  is  reproved  and 
put  to  shame  when  we  look  to  Christ  and  to  His 
[  171  ] 


cross.  He  did  not  die  for  a  few  people;  for  a 
group  of  people,  be  they  rich  or  be  they  poor ;  for 
people  of  a  certain  age,  be  they  young  or  be  they 
old.  He  did  not  die  for  people  of  a  certain  Chris- 
tian denomination,  be  they  Presbyterians  or  Bap- 
tists or  Episcopalians.  He  did  not  die  for  people 
of  a  certain  kind  of  character,  be  they  good  peo- 
ple or  bad  people,  believers  or  atheists  or  heathen. 
He  died  for  all,  everybody,  everywhere,  without 
any  exception  or  omission;  for  Judas  Iscariot  as 
much  as  for  St.  John,  for  the  wickedest  person 
alive  to-day  as  much  as  for  the  noblest  and  the 
best.  He  died  for  all;  therefore  every  person 
comes  in  for  the  Easter  message,  that  they  who 
live  should  no  longer  live  unto  themselves,  but 
unto  Him  Who  died  for  them,  and  rose  again. 
He  died  for  all  of  us.  He  died!  The  sting  is 
tremendous  when  you  put  it  to  yourself  in  that 
way.  You  cannot  get  past  it.  You  cannot  get 
away  from  it.  The  cross  stops  you.  It  blocks 
your  way.  You  have  to  stop,  and  look  at  it,  and 
think  what  it  means.  When  many  of  us  are  thus 
stopped  by  the  cross  in  our  very  path  and  made 
to  look  at  it  and  to  take  in  what  it  means,  we 
begin  to  make  excuses  about  the  way  we  are  liv- 
ing. One  says  :  ** I  have  so  much  to  do  that  I  can- 
[  172  ] 


€amv  CtenttDe 

not  lead  a  very  earnest  life.  My  time  is  all  taken 
up  with  engagements.  I  have  more  to  think  of 
than  I  can  properly  manage."  That  does  not 
make  any  difference.  He  died  for  you,  that  you 
who  are  a  living  person  should  no  longer  live  to 
yourself,  but  to  Him  Who  died  for  you,  and  rose 
again.  And  another  says  :  "I  am  so  timid  and  so 
retiring.  I  like  to  shrink  back  into  myself;  and 
besides,  I  am  not  talented  like  other  people,  with 
the  secret  of  personal  influence."  That  does  not 
make  any  difference.  He  died  for  you,  that  you 
should  not  live  unto  yourself,  but  unto  Him  Who 
died  for  you,  and  rose  again.  And  another  says : 
*'I  am  not  a  Christian  at  all ;  I  have  never  bound 
myself  to  religion  in  any  way  or  form.  I  am  free 
to  go  and  come  as  I  like.  I  do  not  claim  to  be 
good."  That  makes  no  difference.  That  does 
not  alter  the  case  a  particle.  He  died  for  you, 
that  you  should  not  live  unto  yourself,  but  unto 
Him. 

Now  this  is  the  first  thing  Christ  wants  to  say 
to  us  as  He  walks  with  us,  in  His  Spirit,  at  this 
hour,  making  our  hearts  burn  within  us :  "I  Who 
am  walking  with  you  to-day  as  your  risen  Master 
and  Friend,  I  truly  died  for  each  one  of  you  who 
are  here  this  Easter  eventide.  See  my  hands  and 
[  173  ] 


Ci^e  ^Utet  Cup 

my  feet  that  it  is  I  myself.  These  hands  and 
these  feet  were  nailed  to  the  cross,  this  side  was 
wounded  with  the  spear  —  for  each  life,  young  or 
old,  weak  or  strong,  friend  or  foe.  Whatever  you 
may  think  of  me,  this  is  what  I  think  of  you.  I 
love  you.  I  love  you  enough  to  die  for  you."  — 
"And  why  have  I  died  for  you  ?  Is  it  not  because 
I  want  to  change  your  way  of  living,  to  lift  you 
away  from  and  to  keep  you  away  from  the  old, 
the  sinful,  the  weak,  the  inglorious  way  of  living, 
and  to  inspire  you  with  ambitions  and  desires  for 
another  way  of  living  worthy  of  yourself  and 
worthy  of  me  ?  Yes !  I  died  for  you,  that  you  who 
are  living  to-day  should  not  from  this  time  on- 
ward live  unto  yourself,  but  unto  me,  Who  died 
for  you,  and  rose  again." 

Now  what  is  the  spirit  of  that  old  life  which 
we  are  to  live  no  longer .?  He  says:  *'That  you 
should  not  from  henceforth  live  unto  yourself." 
That  is  the  reason  why  He  died :  to  keep  us  from 
doing  that  thing,  from  living  unto  ourselves.  But 
suppose  any  of  us  insist  on  doing  it  after  we  know 
that  Christ  died  to  keep  us  from  doing  it.  Sup- 
pose we  are  doing  it  now,  —  living  unto  ourselves, 
—  are  we  not  treating  the  death  and  resurrection 
of  Jesus  with  disrespect  ?  Are  we  not  practically 
[  174  ] 


saying  to  Him  :  ''We  do  not  care  whether  you  did 
or  did  not  die,  and  rise  again ;  we  do  not  intend  to 
change  our  way  of  living ;  we  like  the  old  way  and 
we  are  used  to  it"  ? 

What  is  this  old  way  of  living  ?  It  is  living  unto 
ourselves.  And  what  is  that?  Why,  it  is  the 
spirit  of  selfishness.  Now  this  spirit  of  selfishness, 
when  you  look  into  it,  what  is  it.^  It  is  three 
things.  It  is  the  spirit  of  claiming  yourself  for 
yourself.  It  is  the  spirit  of  letting  well  enough 
alone.   It  is  the  spirit  of  not  caring. 

I  say,  it  is  the  spirit  of  claiming  yourself  for 
yourself.  That  is  the  old,  original  spirit  of  every 
human  life,  "to  look  out,"  as  the  proverb  says, 
"for  number  one."  *'I  belong  to  myself,  and 
what  I  want  for  myself  I  mean  to  get  if  I  can.  I 
do  not  intend  to  do  things  that  I  do  not  want  to 
do  any  more  than  I  can  possibly  help.  I  mean  to 
have  my  share  in  what  there  is ;  and  when  I  want 
to  do  a  thing  very  much,  I  intend  to  do  it,  if  I 
can."  That  is  what  I  mean  by  the  spirit  of 
claiming  yourself  for  yourself;  and  you  know  as 
well  as  I  that  what  I  have  said  is  perfectly  true. 

Then,  the  spirit  of  selfishness  is  also  the  spirit 
of  letting  well  enough  alone,  unless  it  is  to  your 
personal  interest  to  make  it  better.  The  spirit  of 
[  175] 


Cl^e  ^iVotv  Cup 

selfishness  does  not  impel  one  to  let  well  enough 
alone  if  it  is  to  his  interest  to  make  it  better.  One 
goes  to  work  quickly  enough  to  better  one's  self  if 
it  pays  to  do  it ;  but  if  he  can  get  as  much  out  of  it 
by  leaving  it  as  it  is,  he  leaves  it  as  it  is.  You  find 
this  spirit  of  letting  well  enough  alone  just  run- 
ning through  the  world.  One  gets  used  to  the 
ordinary  way  of  living  and  says:  "Oh!  why  try 
for  anything  better ;  let  well  enough  alone.  Things 
can  run  along  just  as  they  are.  Where  is  the  use 
of  making  any  change  in  our  way  of  living, 
which  may  only  make  things  harder  for  us.  Why 
not  take  life  easily,  and  drift  on  with  the  tide,  and 
do  as  other  people  do,  and  live  as  other  people 
live.  Why  bring  on  trouble  and  care  by  stirring 
things  up  and  striking  out  for  new  things  and 
getting  yourself  talked  about  as  being  queer  and 
odd. 

Then,  once  more,  the  spirit  of  selfishness  is  the 
spirit  of  not  caring.  Did  you  ever  think  what 
wonderful  things  your  eyelids  are  —  these  two 
little  drop-curtains  hung  above  your  eyes,  that 
can  be  raised  or  lowered  so  quickly.  They  are 
wonderful  because  they  are  so  little  and  yet  can 
shut  out  so  much.  Look  at  the  heavens  above 
you  on  a  clear  night,  sown  with  stars  like  an  infi- 
[  176] 


nite  meadow  of  daisies.  Think  of  the  time  it  would 
take  for  a  man  to  walk  across  that  meadow ;  yet 
lower  your  eyelids  and  the  whole  thing  is  shut 
out.  Look  at  the  ocean  from  the  top  of  a  moun- 
tain and  see  it  stretch  so  far  and  wide  it  may  take 
a  day  for  a  sail  to  creep  from  right  to  left  of  you ; 
yet  drop  those  curtains  of  the  eye,  and  you  blot 
it  out.  Look  at  a  great  library  full  of  books,  a 
storehouse  of  the  wisdom  of  the  world.  It  would 
take  you  a  lifetime  to  explore  those  treasures; 
but  shut  your  eyes  and  you  need  never  see  a 
page.  Look  at  a  crowd  of  people  struggling  with 
their  lives,  working,  suffering,  learning,  sinning, 
dying;  yet  shut  your  eyes  and  you  need  not  see 
one.  Oh !  weird  little  curtains  of  the  eye,  so  small 
yet  shutting  out  such  mighty  things.  The  spirit 
of  not  caring  is  the  shutting  of  the  mind's  eyes 
from  the  things  you  do  not  want  to  see :  great 
truths  of  God;  great  needs  of  humanity;  great 
opportunities  of  doing  good.  The  spirit  of  selfish- 
ness says:  "It  is  easier  not  to  see  those  things," 
and  so  you  shut  your  eyes,  and  you  don't  see 
them.  And  out  of  sight,  out  of  mind.  Who  cares  ? 
It  is  easy  to  get  rid  of  all  these  things  and  to  see 
the  things  it  pays  you  to  see. 

Now  this  is  the  spirit  of  selfishness:  it  is  the 

[  1'^^  ] 


Cl^e  filter  Cup 

spirit  of  claiming  yourself  for  yourself,  the  spirit 
of  letting  well  enough  alone,  the  spirit  of  not  car- 
ing. And  this  is  the  way  that  human  nature  tends 
to  live,  boys  and  girls,  men  and  women,  —  all 
tend  to  this  way  of  selfishness.  This  is  human 
nature  in  its  present  poor  condition ;  and  you  can 
live  in  this  rut  of  selfishness,  if  you  choose,  to  the 
day  of  your  death.  But  Christ  does  not  want  to 
have  you  live  that  way.  He  loves  you  so  grandly. 
He  cannot  bear  that  you  or  any  one  should  live 
that  way.  Of  all  things  on  earth.  He  most  wants 
to  break  up  in  us,  and  in  all  men,  that  spirit  of 
the  old  life ;  and  in  order  to  do  this.  He  has  made 
of  Himself,  and  by  His  own  choice,  the  greatest 
sacrifice  it  was  possible  for  Him  to  make:  "He 
died  for  all  that  they  which  live  should  not  hence- 
forth live  unto  themselves."  Christ  does  not  want 
you  to  live  in  the  spirit  of  selfishness ;  and  in  His 
dear  love  He  has  died  for  you,  that  you  might  not 
live  any  longer  in  the  spirit  of  selfishness. 

But  how  does  He  want  you  to  live  ?  What  way 
of  living  does  He  think  is  worthy  of  you  ?  Ah ! 
hear  the  answer,  boy  and  girl,  youth  and  maiden, 
and  all  of  you  who  are  yet  in  your  earlier  years. 
Hear  it,  on  this  sweet  eventide  of  His  resurrec- 
tion. Hear  it  as,  in  His  Holy  Spirit,  He  is  walking 
[  178] 


ta^ttv  CtentfDe 

by  our  side  in  this  our  earthly  pilgrimage.  How 
does  Christ  want  you  to  live  ?  Not  unto  yourself, 
not  unto  yourself,  but  unto  Him  Who  died  for 
you,  and  rose  again.  Yes !  Who  rose  again  and  is 
with  you  to  help  you  to  live  the  life  He  wants  yoii 
to  live.  Who  rose  again  and  brings  the  power  of 
His  resurrection,  like  a  glory  and  a  blessing  and 
a  well-spring  of  light  and  leading  into  every  life 
that  will  take  as  its  ideal  henceforth  and  forever : 
To  live  unto  Him !  To  live  unto  Him !  And  what 
will  it  mean  if  on  this  great  evening  we  do  take  it, 
take  it  again,  take  it  forever,  as  our  ideal  and  as 
our  aim  —  to  live  unto  Him  Who  died  for  us,  and 
rose  again.  It  means  just  the  opposite  of  living 
unto  yourself.  Living  unto  yourself  means  claim- 
ing yourself  for  yourself.  Living  unto  Him  means 
carrying  about  with  you  the  grand  thought  that 
you,  in  your  spirit,  in  your  mind,  yes,  even  in 
your  body,  belong  unto  Christ  Who  has  redeemed 
you  with  His  precious  blood;  that  your  life  is  a 
great  trust  which  God  has  committed  unto  you, 
and  which  you  truly  want  to  use  in  whatever  way 
is  best,  according  to  God's  definition  of  best. 

Living  unto  yourself  means  letting  well  enough 
alone ;  but  living  unto  Him  means  just  the  oppo- 
site. You  cannot  be  satisfied  to  run  in  a  rut  if 
[  179] 


you  are  living  unto  Christ,  for  His  Spirit  is  always 
teaching  you  new  things,  giving  you  higher  and 
higher  views  of  what  your  own  life  means,  giv- 
ing you  grander  ideas  of  truth  and  of  service. 
You  cannot  let  well  enough  alone,  as  the  lazy 
phrase  goes,  because  nothing  seems  to  you  well 
enough ;  you  are  always  seeing  something  better 
and  trying  for  it;  always  believing  that  there 
is  something  better,  and  that  the  best  is  yet  to  be. 

Living  unto  yourself  means  not  caring,  shut- 
ting your  eyes  to  all  the  things  you  do  not  care 
about  seeing,  and  shutting  them  out  of  your  mind 
if  you  can.  Living  unto  Him  is  just  the  opposite. 
It  is  caring  with  all  your  heart  for  the  things  that 
are  great  and  good  and  broad  and  godlike,  — 
caring  for  truth,  caring  for  a  broad  usefulness, 
caring  to  influence  and  to  save  others,  caring  to 
keep  very,  very  close  in  heart,  mind,  and  life  to 
the  Lord  Jesus  Christ. 

Dear  friend,  sitting  so  thoughtfully  here  in 
the  midst  of  all  these  great  Easter  thoughts  and 
associations,  there  never  can  come  to  you  a 
nobler  hour  than  this  in  which  to  make  for  the 
first  time,  or,  if  made  before,  to  make  freshly  and 
renewedly  a  hearty  dedication  of  your  life  to  Him 
Who  died  for  you,  and  rose  again.  This  day  of  His 
[  180  ] 


resurrection  is  surely  the  day  of  all  days  on 
which  to  say  from  the  depths  of  an  earnest  heart 
such  words  as  these :  — 

Just  as  I  am,  Thine  own  to  be. 
Friend  of  the  young,  who  lovest  me, 
To  consecrate  myself  to  Thee, 
O  Jesus  Christ,  I  come. 

Just  as  I  am,  young,  strong,  and  free. 
To  be  the  best  that  I  can  be. 
For  truth,  and  righteousness  and  Thee: 
Lord  of  my  life,  I  come. 

Amen. 


^  iLife  JEessage 

Psalm  121  :  5 

Will  you  listen  while  I  earnestly  try  to  give 
you  a  life  message,  a  tender,  faithful  word  from 
God,  that  unseen  Friend  whose  love  for  you  is 
greater  than  any  words  of  mine  can  describe ;  so 
great,  so  wonderful  that  only  God  Himself  can 
make  you  realize  it.  The  life  message  is  this, 
very  short,  very  easy  to  remember,  but  oh !  how 
grand  and  how  beautiful  is  its  meaning:  "The 
Lord  is  thy  keeper."  Only  five  words,  but  each 
one  bright  as  a  star,  and  all  together  like  one  of 
those  glorious  constellations  which  you  see  when 
on  a  clear  night  you  lift  up  your  eyes  to  the  sky. 
"The  Lord  is  thy  keeper!"  May  those  shining 
words  now  be  seen  in  all  their  beauty  as  we  lift  up 
our  minds  to  think  of  God. 

In  the  early  part  of  last  week,  a  friend,  who 
loves  children  and  who  has  children  of  her  own 
to  love,  asked  me  if  I  had  found  the  right  mes- 
sage for  the  children's  service.  I  replied,  "Not 
quite  certainly."  And  she  said,  "Oh!  will  you 
[  182  ] 


a  life  jHejijSage 

not  take  the  text, '  The  Lord  is  thy  keeper,'  and 
make  it  a  special  message  to  the  lives  of  chil- 
dren? My  mother,"  said  she,  "gave  me  those 
words  when  I  was  a  child ;  she  wrote  them  in  my 
Bible,  and  they  have  helped  me  all  my  life.  Surely 
they  will  help  other  children  even  as  they  helped 


me." 


When  that  mother,  long  years  ago,  wrote  on 
the  fly-leaf  of  her  little  daughter's  Bible,  "The 
Lord  is  thy  keeper,"  I  think  she  wrote  the  most 
beautiful  and  the  most  helpful  thought  about 
God  that  can  enter  into  a  child's  soul ;  and  I  am 
sure,  as  she  wrote  the  words,  she  hoped  that  the 
thought  which  is  in  those  words  might  teach  her 
child  to  think  about  God  in  the  right  way,  and 
might  grow  in  its  power  over  her  child's  ideas 
and  actions ;  I  am  sure  she  hoped  that,  through 
the  influence  of  those  words  her  child  might  be 
drawn  very  near  to  God,  and  might  have  a  per- 
fect trust  in  Him  always.  For  that  is  what  the 
words  will  do  for  every  one  who  understands  and 
believes  them.  "  The  Lord  is  thy  keeper"  means  : 
The  Lord  will  watch  over  thee,  guard  thee,  pro- 
tect thee,  help  thee,  take  care  of  thee,  always  and 
everywhere.  He  will  give  thee  that  which  is  best 
for  thee  to  have ;  he  will  make  thee  able  to  meet 
[  183  ] 


Ci^e  ^ilber  Cup 

each  new  thing  that  happens ;  he  will  teach  thee 
all  needful  wisdom  and  give  thee  all  needful 
strength.  And  so,  in  her  little  girl's  Bible  the 
mother  wrote,  "The  Lord  is  thy  keeper,"  hoping 
that  the  sight  of  those  words  might  teach  her 
child  to  trust  God  for  everything,  to  depend  on 
Him  for  safety  and  strength  and  guidance,  and 
to  be  calm,  because  of  that  great  trust  in  God, 
in  all  times  of  sickness,  sorrow,  danger,  and  even 
death  itself,  sure  that  God  was  her  "best  and 
kindest  friend,"  and  that  He  would  "love  her  to 
the  end." 

But  why  was  that  mother  so  anxious  to  have 
her  child  grow  to  depend  on  God  for  all  safe 
keeping  and  advice  and  help  ?  Why  did  she  not 
write  in  the  Bible,  instead  of  "The  Lord  is  thy 
keeper,"  "Your  mother  is  your  keeper:  she  loves 
you,  she  will  take  care  of  you,  she  will  keep  you  in 
all  your  difficulties,  she  will  be  to  you  the  truest 
and  best  adviser  in  the  world."  Did  she  not  hope 
and  expect  to  do  all  she  possibly  could  for  her 
darling  child ;  did  she  not  want  to  be  the  keeper 
of  her  child,  watching  over  her  life,  shielding  it 
from  danger,  comforting  it  in  trouble,  helping  it 
over  each  difficulty  ?  Yes,  surely,  she  wanted  to 
do  everything  she  could  possibly  do  for  her  little 
[  184  ] 


girl.  There  could  not  have  been  a  more  loving, 
faithful  mother. 

But  that  mother  knew,  as  every  true  mother 
and  true  father  knows,  how  soon  the  time  comes 
in  a  child's  life  when  a  child  needs  a  greater  and  a 
wiser  keeper  than  its  father  or  its  mother.  There 
may  be  between  the  parent  and  the  child  that 
perfect  love  which  casteth  out  fear ;  and  the  child 
may  wish  to  tell  its  every  thought  to  its  mother  or 
to  its  father ;  but  no  matter  how  much  love  there 
is,  and  how  much  confidence  there  is,  quickly 
and  surely  comes  the  time  when  that  young  heart 
must  have  a  keeper  more  loving  than  the  tender- 
est  mother,  more  wise  and  strong  and  good  than 
the  best  of  fathers,  and  if  it  does  not  know  and 
find  and  trust  that  greater  keeper  very  early  it  is 
in  danger  of  going  altogether  wrong. 

Now  I  am  speaking  the  plainest  truth,  and  I 
know  you  will  all  understand  me  when  I  say, 
long  before  you  get  past  your  childhood  you  need 
some  one  else  for  a  keeper  beside  your  parents. 
This  comes  true  in  many  ways.  Sometimes  a 
mother  or  a  father  dies,  and  leaves  a  little  child 
without  that  help  it  so  much  needs.  There  are 
young  lives  here  that  have  been  so  left.  Some- 
times children  have  to  live  away  from  their  par- 
[  185  ] 


ents,  going  for  months,  for  years,  without  any 
other  help  from  their  parents  than  that  which 
could  be  given  in  letters.  Sometimes  parents  and 
children,  though  living  together,  cannot  under- 
stand each  other,  and  cannot  seem  to  have  that 
intimate  fellowship  in  which  the  child  can  freely 
speak  forth  its  thoughts.  Everything  may  be 
open  and  happy  which  pertains  to  outside  mat- 
ters, but  when  you  come  to  the  deep  things  of  the 
heart,  there  is  silence,  and  neither  one  can  un- 
derstand the  other.  But  when  I  have  said  this,  I 
have  not  said  all.  There  remains  one  greater  and 
deeper  reason  why  a  child  needs  a  greater  keeper 
than  its  mother  or  its  father  can  be. 

Every  child  begins  very  early  to  live  its  own 
life,  by  having  thoughts  which  it  can  express  to 
God  only,  and  feelings  which  it  cannot  always 
express  even  to  God,  nor  fully  understand  in 
itself.  What  a  strange,  tremendous  thing  is  that 
waking  up  of  thought  and  feeling  in  your  life; 
those  deep,  rushing  waves  of  impulse  that  surge 
over  you,  those  indefinite,  unsatisfied  longings, 
those  new  experiences  of  good  and  evil,  those 
swelling  emotions  of  joy  and  of  hope,  or  of  sad- 
ness and  of  despondency ;  those  mysterious  temp- 
tations, those  solemn  hungerings  after  God.  As 
[  186] 


a  life  jttejSiSage 

you  go  about  your  home,  as  you  sit  in  your  school, 
as  you  walk  the  streets,  as  you  lie  down  at  night, 
these  new  experiences  of  light  or  of  darkness 
come  upon  you  and  take  possession  of  you.  Per- 
haps some  small  part  of  these  things  you  could 
speak  of  to  a  mother,  or  to  a  father,  or  to  a  friend ; 
but  the  greater  part  of  them  you  cannot  put  into 
words.  The  thoughts  and  feelings  and  desires 
which  are  not  good  you  hide  within  yourself, 
ashamed  to  be  known  as  having  them ;  while  the 
grand  and  holy  thoughts,  the  beautiful  desires, 
seem  too  sacred  to  utter.  Even  so  are  you  finding 
out  that  you  have  a  life  of  your  own,  which  you 
do  not  understand,  which  you  cannot  fully  ex- 
plain to  any  one,  and  which  you  do  not  know  how 
to  manage.  This  new-found  life  gives  you  at 
times  much  joy  —  and  at  times  no  end  of  trouble. 
Sometimes  you  are  very  happy,  and  often  in  that 
innermost  secret  place  of  your  own  heart  you  are 
confused,  discouraged,  and  overwhelmed,  and 
no  matter  how  much  you  confide  in  your  most 
trusted  friend  on  earth,  there  is  always  more  in 
your  life,  both  of  good  and  of  evil,  both  of  aspira- 
tion and  of  temptation,  than  you  dare  whisper  in 
any  human  ear. 

Shall  I  tell  you  what  all  this  means  ?   Shall  I 
[  187] 


tell  you  why  this  strange  awaking  of  yourself 
takes  place?  This  is  one  way  in  which  God 
makes  us  realize  that  we  need  a  keeper,  some  one 
to  take  care  of  us  and  guide  us,  greater  than  our- 
self,  greater  than  a  human  friend.  Perhaps  we 
could  never  know  that  we  need  God,  and  so  per- 
haps we  could  never  find  God,  were  it  not  for  this 
waking  up  of  our  life  with  all  its  strange  excite- 
ment of  joy  and  sorrow;  its  temptations,  strug- 
gles, and  secret  griefs.  If  there  were  no  thoughts 
ever  coming  into  your  mind  which  you  could  not 
speak,  if  there  were  no  great  desires  which  you 
could  not  satisfy  by  talking  of  them,  it  might  be 
you  and  I  would  live  our  whole  lives  without  any 
sense  of  needing  God.  But  oh !  how  many  of  you 
know  that  your  lives  are  full  of  thoughts,  desires, 
and  efforts  which  God  only  knows,  because  you 
can  show  them  only  to  Him.  So,  little  by  little, 
and  one  by  one,  we  begin  to  learn  that  best  and 
dearest  of  all  lessons,  *'The  Lord  is  thy  keeper" ; 
and  as  we  slowly  realize  that  this  mysterious  com- 
bination of  feelings  and  desires  and  temptations 
and  failures  and  victories  is  our  own  life,  we  also 
begin  to  see  God  as  our  own  life-keeper,  as  the 
only  one  who  fully  knows  us,  and  the  only  one 
who  is  fully  able  to  take  care  of  us ;  and  then  at 
[  188  ] 


a  Life  ^ma^t 

length  that  glorious  prayer  becomes  a  reality  in 
our  daily  life:  "Jesus,  keep  me." 

Oh !  it  is  a  glorious  prayer :  *'  Jesus,  keep  me." 
It  is  a  prayer  of  perfect  confidence  in  God  the 
Father.  We  feel  that  we  know  God  the  Father, 
for  we  see  Him  revealed  in  Jesus,  and  we  rejoice 
to  place  our  lives  trustfully  in  God's  keeping. 
We  love  God  with  a  deep,  trusting  love.  We  love 
Him  because  He  is  so  good.  He  is  pure,  holy, 
beautiful,  true ;  nothing  that  is  not  pure  and  true 
can  we  associate  with  Him.  Bright  as  light,  pure 
as  snow,  is  God's  character.  We  love  Him  be- 
cause He  is  so  wise.  We  know  that  whether  we 
explain  ourselves  to  God  or  not.  He  will  under- 
stand us ;  that  His  wisdom  sees  all  our  need,  and 
knows  what  is  truly  best  for  us.  We  love  Him 
because  He  is  so  strong.  He  is  able  to  do  more 
than  we  ask,  exceeding  abundantly  above  all  that 
we  ask  or  think.  It  seems  so  glorious  to  have  one 
to  take  care  of  us  who  is  so  strong.  We  love  Him 
because  He  loves  us :  all  His  goodness,  wisdom, 
and  strength  are  crowned  with  tender,  pitying 
love.  And  so  when  we  pray,  *'  Jesus,  keep  me,"  it 
is  a  prayer  of  perfect  confidence  in  the  Father 
Whom  Jesus  has  manifested. 

"Jesus,  keep  me"!  It  is  a  prayer  of  perfect 
[  189] 


faith  in  what  Christ  has  done  for  us,  on  the  cross ; 
we  feel  that  He  Who  died  for  us,  and  rose  again, 
has  prepared  the  way  for  us  to  come  very,  very 
near  to  God,  and  that  we  dare  speak  to  Him  of 
every  sin,  of  every  trouble,  of  every  humiliating 
weakness,  of  every  secret  in  our  life,  that  we  can 
live  without  any  reserve  before  Him,  and  tell  Him 
all  because  He  has  suffered  for  men  and  with  men, 
and  has  a  perfect  sympathy  toward  men. 

*'  Jesus,  keep  me."  It  is  a  prayer  of  perfect  con- 
fidence in  what  the  Holy  Spirit,  Whom  Jesus  has 
sent,  can  and  will  do  in  us.  Jesus  has  sent  the 
Comforter,  the  Holy  Spirit,  to  be  in  us.  And  day 
by  day,  Jesus  will  keep  us  through  the  Spirit. 
The  Holy  Spirit  guides  the  judgment  of  those  in 
whom  He  lives,  showing  us  the  right  thing  to  do 
when  we  get  into  a  tangle  of  circumstances,  in- 
fluencing our  minds  with  pure  and  wise  and 
wholesome  opinions,  and  making  us  incline  to 
the  things  that  are  safe  and  sweet  and  strong. 
The  Holy  Spirit  strengthens  the  will  of  those  in 
whom  He  dwells,  so  that  more  and  more,  in  the 
hour  of  temptation,  we  shall  choose  light  rather 
than  darkness.  The  Holy  Spirit  gives  us  brave 
and  calm  thoughts  in  times  of  danger.  When,  for 
example,  w^e  are  out  sailing,  and  a  sudden  storm 
[  190] 


a  life  f^ma^t 

comes  up,  and  we  know  not  but  that  the  next 
squall  of  wind  may  capsize  the  boat,  and  throw 
us  into  the  sea ;  or  when  the  fierce  thunder-storm 
bursts  forth  at  midnight,  and  the  blazing  light- 
ning strikes  a  tree  or  a  house  near  by,  and  we 
know  that  the  next  instant  it  may  be  our  turn  to 
receive  the  dreadful  blow;  or  when  we  become 
sick,  when  pain  and  fever  are  growing  worse, 
when  we  know  that  we  have  some  dreadful  dis- 
ease, and  that  in  a  little  while  we  may  be  dan- 
gerously ill,  —  in  such  times,  it  is  the  Holy  Spirit 
Who  makes  us  perfectly  brave  and  calm.  We 
pray  that  greatest  and  most  comforting  prayer, 
**  Jesus,  keep  me,"  and  He  answers  that  prayer 
by  sending  that  sweet  influence  of  His  Spirit 
freshly  through  our  hearts.  It  may  be  the  danger 
does  not  go  away :  perhaps  the  boat  does  capsize, 
perhaps  the  lightning  will  strike  the  house,  per- 
haps the  doctors  and  the  nurses  cannot  stop  the 
disease,  and  we  may  grow  worse  and  worse  until 
we  know  that  we  are  dying,  —  these  things  may 
come  to  us  as  they  come  to  others.  God  has  not 
promised  to  keep  trouble  and  sickness  away  from 
us  because  He  is  our  keeper.  No !  but  He  has 
promised  to  give  us,  by  His  Spirit,  that  sweet, 
strong  trust  that  in  the  end  that  which  is  best  shall 

[  191  ] 


m)t  ^il\)n  Cup 

conquer  in  our  life,  and  that  perfect  peace  which 
neither  danger  nor  sorrow  shall  utterly  abolish  or 
destroy.  Hear  these  words  about  the  "keeping"  : 
"Thou  wilt  keep  him  in  perfect  peace  whose 
mind  is  stayed  on  Thee,  because  he  trusteth  in 
Thee" ;  "the  peace  of  God  which  passeth  all  un- 
derstanding shall  keep  your  heart  and  mind  in 
the  knowledge  and  love  of  God" ;  "Yea,  though 
I  walk  through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death, 
I  will  fear  no  evil,  for  Thou  art  with  me ;  Thy  rod 
and  Thy  staff  they  comfort  me." 

Now  I  say  to  you,  dear  friend,  have  you  that 
peace  ?  Do  you  know  the  Lord  as  your  keeper  ? 
Have  you  placed  your  life  in  Jesus'  hands  that  He 
may  take  care  of  it,  and  do  with  it  as  He  will  ? 
Do  you  feel  that  He  is  with  you  in  danger,  in 
sickness,  in  sorrow,  in  temptation,  as  well  as  in 
strength  and  health  and  happiness  ?  Do  you  be- 
lieve that  everywhere  and  always,  when  you  are 
in  company,  when  you  are  alone,  you  are  being 
"kept"  by  the  All  Holy  One  ?  If  this  thought  is 
already  in  your  life  to  any  extent,  will  you  not 
seek  a  more  complete  knowledge.?  Nothing  will 
give  you  such  a  noble  idea  of  living  as  this ;  it 
will  help  you  to  realize  the  sinfulness  of  sin,  it  will 
show  you  that  you  are  not  alone  in  temptation,  it 
[  192  ] 


a  Life  ittejsjsage 

will  constantly  remind  you  of  the  holy  purpose 
which  God  has  in  store  for  you ;  it  will  make  you 
brave  and  calm  when  thrown  suddenly  in  cir- 
cumstances of  great  danger;  and  when  it  comes 
your  turn,  as  it  may  come,  to  go  voluntarily  and 
expose  yourself  to  great  danger,  for  the  good 
you  may  do  to  others,  it  will  take  from  you  all 
timidity ;  it  will  support  you  with  a  splendid  and 
reasonable  joy. 

And  if  to  any  of  you  this  thought  is  new  and 
strange,  I  ask  you  to  look  at  it.  I  suppose  you 
have  had  your  share  of  struggle  against  sin.  I 
suppose  you  have  made  plenty  of  honest  efforts 
to  break  off  wrong  ways;  but  from  this  time 
onward  try  to  realize  that  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ 
is  your  keeper,  and  that  He  is  able  to  keep  you 
from  falling,  and  to  keep  in  your  heart  a  gracious 
abiding  of  the  Spirit  which  shall  make  you  a  con- 
queror at  last.  Oh !  that  some  one  of  you,  dear 
young  hearts,  may  this  afternoon  take  the  Lord 
for  your  keeper.  I  cannot  tell  what  your  life  may 
be.  I  cannot  look  ahead  into  the  years  and  see 
what  is  before  you;  what  life-work  you  are  to 
do,  what  happiness  or  what  sorrow,  what  success 
or  what  discouragement  is  coming  to  you.  To  us 
it  is  all  uncertainty.  But  of  one  thing  I  am  sure, 
[  193] 


Cl^e  ^ilbtv  Cup 

perfectly  sure,  that  it  is  wise  and  blessed  and  good 
to  take  Christ  at  once  for  our  keeper.  He  is  able 
to  keep  that  which  we  commit  to  His  trust.  And 
He  has  said  concerning  all  those  who  are  given 
into  His  keeping :  "They  shall  never  perish;  nor 
shall  any  man  pluck  them  out  of  my  hand." 


%f}t  ^il\jer  Cup 

Genesis  44  :  2 

In  these  days,  when  children  have  so  many 
beautiful  things,  many  a  child  has  a  silver  cup  of 
its  own.  No  doubt  some  of  you  have  silver  cups, 
engraved  with  your  names.  They  were  given 
when  you  were  born,  or  when  you  were  baptized, 
or  on  your  first  Christmas  day.  Your  silver  cup 
was  given  by  your  father  or  mother,  or  by  a  dear 
grandparent,  or  by  a  loving  uncle  or  aunt.  You 
prize  it  very  much,  use  it  very  often,  and  intend 
to  keep  it  for  a  treasure  as  long  as  you  live. 

Perhaps  some  of  you  will  use  your  silver  cups 
to-night  at  supper.  If  so,  remember,  when  you 
use  them,  the  beautiful  story  about  a  silver  cup 
which  I  am  now  about  to  tell  you.  It  must  have 
been  a  very  grand  cup,  and  probably  it  was  a 
much  larger  cup  than  yours.  It  was  almost  more 
like  a  silver  bowl  than  like  your  silver  cup.  It  be- 
longed to  Joseph ;  and  it  can  hardly  be  necessary 
for  me  to  tell  any  one  here  who  Joseph  was,  and 
what  were  the  main  facts  in  his  history.  Joseph 
is  one  of  the  people  in  the  Old  Testament  whom 
we  have  known  best  and  longest.  Does  not  every 
[  195] 


Cl^e  ^ilUt  Cup 

boy  and  girl  remember  the  coat  of  many  colors 
which  his  father  Jacob  gave  him  in  his  boyhood  ? 
Do  we  not  all  remember  how  jealous  of  him  his 
brothers  were,  and  how  they  made  up  a  mean 
plot  to  get  rid  of  him,  and  to  tell  his  father  that  he 
had  been  killed  by  the  wild  beasts  ?  Oh !  it  was 
a  terrible  story  of  jealousy  and  lying:  how  they 
seized  the  poor  little  boy  one  day  and  threw  him 
down  into  an  old  well  which  was  dry.  They  did 
not  mean  to  drown  him,  for  they  knew  there  was 
no  water  in  the  well,  but  they  meant  to  leave  him 
in  that  dreary  hole,  all  alone,  to  weep,  to  starve, 
to  die.  And  then,  to  make  his  poor  old  father 
think  the  wild  beasts  had  killed  Joseph,  they  took 
his  pretty  coat  and  dipped  it  in  the  blood  of  a 
young  goat;  and  just  then  came  along  the  mer- 
chants on  their  way  to  Egypt,  and  these  wretched 
brothers,  thinking  it  would  be  better  to  make 
money  out  of  their  little  brother  than  to  leave  him 
alone  to  die,  dragged  him  out  of  the  well,  sold 
him  to  the  merchants  for  twenty  pieces  of  silver, 
and  carried  home  the  blood-stained  coat  to  their 
broken-hearted  old  father. 

It  was  a  terrible  story,  and  one  that  would  be 
too  sad  to  talk  of   if  it  had  not  turned  out  so 
brightly  in  the  end.  For  the  story  of    the  boy 
I  196] 


Joseph,  as  it  opens  up  after  the  violent  act  of  his 
brothers,  is  like  sunlight  breaking  through  after 
a  thunder-storm.  He  had  his  trials  and  his  hard 
times,  down  in  Egypt,  it  is  true,  because  he  would 
not  do  wrong  as  others  did,  but  after  a  time  he 
lived  past  those  trials  and  had  a  great  reward. 
He  simply  became  a  prince  in  Egypt,  honored 
and  trusted  everywhere.  Great  wealth,  great 
power,  were  given  to  him,  as  tokens  of  the  confi- 
dence and  respect  felt  toward  him;  he  had  a 
great  house  of  his  own,  with  servants  at  his  com- 
mand. The  king  treated  him  as  kindly  as  if  he 
had  been  his  son;  gave  him  everything  which  a 
king's  son  would  be  likely  to  have  or  to  need  in 
Egypt.  In  other  words,  although  Joseph  was  not 
an  Egyptian  and  did  not  worship  the  Egyptian 
gods,  he  had  the  full  outfit  of  an  Egyptian  prince 
given  to  him. 

One  of  the  beautiful  things  in  his  house  was  the 
great  silver  cup,  as  large  as  a  bowl,  and  exceed- 
ingly beautiful.  You  would  find  a  cup  like  this  in 
the  palace  of  any  prince  in  Egypt.  These  silver 
cups  had  another  use  beside  that  of  drinking 
vessels.  They  were  called  "divining  cups,"  i.  e. 
men  pretended  to  be  able,  by  means  of  them,  to 
read  the  future  and  tell  what  was  going  to  hap- 
[  197] 


Ci^e  ^ilber  Cup 

pen.  They  used  them  in  this  way :  filling  the  silver 
cup  with  water,  they  would  set  it  in  the  sunlight, 
and  then  into  the  water  they  would  drop  a  beau- 
tiful, glittering  jewel,  and  as  the  jewel  lay  in  the 
water  at  the  bottom  of  the  cup,  the  sunlight 
would  fall  on  it  and  send  a  beam  of  light  flashing 
in  one  direction  or  another.  And  by  the  way  the 
light  flashed  in  the  silver  cup  they  claimed  to  be 
able  to  learn  about  the  future  and  to  be  guided  in 
their  lives.  Joseph  had  one  of  these  splendid  sil- 
ver cups.  It  was  an  ornament  in  his  house.  We 
do  not  know  whether  he  did  or  did  not  use  it  as  a 
"divining  cup,"  but  probably  he  did  not,  for  he 
worshiped  God. 

Time  passed  by,  and  far  away,  in  the  land 
where  Joseph's  father  and  brothers  lived,  there 
came  a  year  when  the  grass  and  the  corn  would 
not  grow,  when  the  fields  were  dry  as  dust,  and 
cattle  and  men  were  starving  to  death.  Some- 
thing had  to  be  done,  so  the  brothers  went  to  ^ 
Egypt  to  buy  as  much  corn  as  their  beasts  would  ' 
carry.  Each  man  had  an  enormous  bag  in  which 
to  put  the  corn,  that  he  might  load  it  on  the  back 
of  the  beast  of  burden.  They  came  to  Egypt,  and 
were  brought  into  the  palace  of  Joseph.  They 
knew  him  not.  He  had  grown  to  be  a  man.  But 

[  198] 


he  knew  them,  and  his  heart  went  out  to  them 
with  all  the  old  love.  He  did  not  let  them  know 
who  he  was,  but  his  one  thought  was  to  win  their 
hearts,  and  to  bring  together  the  long-broken 
family.  He  questioned  them  about  their  father 
and  their  younger  brother  Benjamin,  whom  they 
had  left  with  their  father.  They  told  him  all  with- 
out knowing  who  he  was.  Then  he  told  them 
that  if  they  needed  corn  they  must  bring  that 
younger  brother.  They  could  take  the  corn  home 
to  their  father,  but  one  of  them,  Simeon,  must 
stay  as  a  prisoner  in  Egypt  until  the  others  came 
back  with  that  younger  brother. 

They  went  back  with  the  message  to  their  fa- 
ther, and  when  he  heard  that  the  prince  in  Egypt 
said  Benjamin  must  go  there,  too,  the  poor  old 
man  was  just  heart-broken.  He  said :  "  Benja- 
min is  my  dear  pet.  If  you  take  him,  I  shall  die. 
Joseph  is  gone  and  Simeon  is  gone,  and  now  have 
I  got  to  give  up  Benjamin,  too  .^"  And  they  told 
him :  "If  you  want  anything  to  eat  you  will  have 
to  send  Benjamin ;  that  prince  in  Egypt  said  so." 
Well,  they  took  Benjamin  and  they  went  again  to 
Egypt,  and  oh!  what  love  filled  Joseph's  heart 
when  he  saw  that  dear  boy.  He  wanted  to  throw 
his  arms  around  him  then  and  there,  but  the  time 
[  199] 


Cl^e  filter  Cup 

had  not  come  to  make  himself  known.  So  he  let 
them  fill  their  bags  with  corn,  and  they  were 
about  starting  for  home,  when  he  called  one  of  his 
servants  and  said :  *'  Get  my  silver  cup  and  slip  it 
in  at  the  top  of  Benjamin's  bag  of  corn."  The 
brothers  went  away,  and  soon  a  servant  ran  after 
them,  pretending  to  be  very  angry,  and  said: 
"  Which  of  you  has  taken  away  my  master's  silver 
cup.^"  They  all  said:  *' Not  any  one  of  us.  We 
would  not  do  such  a  thing.  You  may  search  our 
bags,  and  if  you  find  that  cup  among  them,  the 
man  in  whose  bag  it  is  found  shall  go  back  with 
you  as  a  slave."  The  search  was  made,  and  there, 
in  Benjamin's  bag,  the  cup  was  found.  They 
were  all  perfectly  overwhelmed.  They  had  pro- 
mised their  father  that  nothing  should  happen  to 
Benjamin,  and  here  something  had  happened 
which  was  worse  than  death ;  he  had  been  found 
carrying  off  the  silver  cup  of  the  prince.  Heavy- 
hearted  and  despairing  they  all  went  back  —  and 
then  you  know  the  beautiful  end  of  the  story. 
When  Joseph  saw  that  he  had  brought  those 
brothers  back,  that  he  had  worked  upon  their 
lives  until  he  had  made  them  humble  and  tender 
and  anxious,  then  he  no  longer  held  back  the 
tide  of  love  that  was  overflowing  his  heart.  He 
[  200  ] 


C]^e  ^ilUv  Cup 

let  them  see  and  know  who  he  was,  he  kissed  the 
older  ones  and  forgave  them  for  the  wrong  they 
had  done  to  him  so  many  years  before,  and  then 
throwing  his  arms  around  the  neck  of  Benjamin, 
the  precious  younger  brother,  he  poured  out 
upon  him  all  the  wealth  of  love  that  was  in  his 
heart. 

This  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  stories  of  th^ 
Old  Testament,  a  story  that  never  wears  out,  and 
which,  the  longer  we  think  of  it  and  the  better 
we  know  it,  suggests  more  wonderful  thoughts  to 
our  mind,  —  thoughts  of  that  Friend  who  stick- 
eth  closer  than  a  brother.  Who  knew  us  even 
when  we  knew  Him  not.  Who  loved  us  ere  we 
knew  Him,  Who  will  not  let  us  go,  Who  keeps 
bringing  us  back  to  Himself  again  and  again  that 
we  may  at  last  perfectly  know  Him.  In  the  midst 
of  this  great  story  shines  the  silver  cup  —  the  cup 
into  which  men  used  to  look,  pretending  to  read 
by  the  sunlight  glistening  on  the  jewel  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  water  wondrous  secrets  of  life.  We  do 
not  believe  in  any  such  magic  as  that ;  we  do  not 
pretend  that  we  can  tell  what  is  going  to  happen 
by  dropping  a  precious  stone  into  a  silver  cup 
full  of  water,  and  watching  the  rays  of  sunlight 
play  over  it.  But  I  do  think  to-day  we  can  take 
[  201  ] 


Joseph's  silver  cup  and  fill  it  with  the  living  water 
of  God's  truth,  and  hold  it  up  in  the  sunlight 
of  Christ's  love,  and  see  some  wonderful  sug- 
gestions in  that  silver  cup  as  it  passed  between 
Joseph's  life  and  Benjamin's  life,  the  older 
brother  and  the  younger  brother,  and  was  the 
means  of  expressing  the  love  of  the  older  to  the 
younger,  and  of  bringing  the  younger  to  know  the 
older.  There  are  thoughts  shining  in  the  silver 
cup,  oh,  my  dear  child  friends,  which  have  much 
to  do  with  your  lives ;  some  of  you  have  found  out 
these  thoughts  already,  and  as  I  repeat  them  to- 
day, they  will  bring  freshly  back  to  you  the  won- 
derful love  of  Jesus  Who  has  brought  you  to 
know  Himself  as  your  elder  brother ;  and  some 
of  you  have  not  found  out  these  thoughts,  and 
my  prayer  is  that  as  the  sunlight  of  Christ's  love 
streams  into  the  silver  cup  now,  you  may  see 
and  understand  as  you  have  never  done  before. 

Let  us  look  down  together  into  the  sunlight 
that  is  playing  in  the  silver  cup,  and  what  do  we 
see?  Well,  first  of  all  we  see  the  two  brothers, 
Joseph  and  Benjamin,  the  older  brother  and  the 
younger  brother.  Joseph  is  like  Christ;  Benja- 
min is  like  you,  as  you  are  now  or  as  you  once 
were.  Look  first  at  Joseph  and  see  what  there  is 
[  202  ] 


€]^e  filter  C«p 

in  his  relation  to  Benjamin  that  reminds  us  of 
Christ's  relation  to  you. 

Joseph  knew  Benjamin.  He  thought  of  him 
not  as  a  stranger,  but  as  a  brother.  He  felt  that 
he  was  of  the  same  flesh  and  blood  as  Benjamin. 
He  had  never  forgotten  Benjamin  all  through 
those  years  in  which  Benjamin  had  been  living 
the  life  of  a  simple  little  boy  in  his  father's  house 
and  Joseph  had  been  living  a  glorious  life  as  a 
prince  and  ruler  in  Egypt.  And  Jesus  knows  you, 
dear  child,  whoever  you  are,  living  a  simple,  quiet 
life  in  your  father's  and  mother's  house  —  a  boy, 
a  girl.  Jesus  Who  is  exalted  a  Prince  and  Saviour 
on  the  throne  of  His  glory  has  never  forgotten 
you.  He  knows  you  as  your  Brother.  He  has 
taken  upon  Himself  the  same  flesh  and  blood 
that  you  wear;  a  human  body  like  your  human 
body,  a  human  mind  like  your  human  mind.  He 
is  not  too  great,  too  high,  to  know  you.  He  does 
know  you  with  a  perfect  knowledge. 

Joseph  loved  Benjamin.  He  not  only  knew 
him  but  loved  him,  with  a  special,  tender,  gener- 
ous love.  The  many  great  duties  of  the  state  that 
fell  upon  him  to  do,  the  many  brilliant  friends  at 
court  with  whom  he  associated,  had  no  power  to 
take  away  his  love  for  his  younger  brother.  And 
[  203  ] 


when  he  saw  him  standing  there  before  him,  and 
realized  that  Benjamin  did  not  know  him,  but 
looked  at  him  as  a  stranger,  the  chief  desire  in  his 
heart  was  to  arrange  some  way  to  get  hold  of 
Benjamin's  life  and  make  Benjamin  know  him. 
And  even  so  the  blessed  Jesus  not  only  knows 
you,  but  loves  you  as  His  younger  brothers  and 
sisters.  He  is  on  His  throne  in  glory.  Tens  of 
thousands  of  saints  and  angels  are  in  His  pre- 
sence, great  affairs  are  occupying  His  thoughts, 
but  nothing  can  crowd  you  out  of  His  thoughts 
or  make  Him  cease  to  love  you  with  more  than 
a  brother's  love,  for  He  has  done  for  you  what 
Joseph  had  not  done  and  could  not  do  for  Benja- 
min, much  though  he  loved  him,  —  He  has  laid 
down  His  life  for  you.  And  He  sees  you  all  now. 
Some  of  you  know  Him  and  are  answering  His 
look  of  love  with  your  own  beaming  eyes;  but 
perchance  there  is  some  dear  boy  or  girl  standing 
here  before  the  Lord  Jesus,  as  Benjamin  stood 
before  Joseph,  not  having  the  least  idea  who  He 
really  is,  and  not  imagining  the  love  with  which 
He  is  looking  on  you.  So  stood  Benjamin  before 
Joseph.  He  did  not  know  him  as  he  really  was. 
He  only  thought  of  Him  as  a  great,  powerful 
prince,  who  did  not  care  for  anything  except  get- 
[  204  ] 


€]^e  Oilier  Cup 

ting  paid  for  the  corn  he  sold.  And  thus  probably 
most  of  us  have  stood  before  Jesus  at  some  point 
in  our  life.  Our  only  thought  about  Him  was  that 
He  was  a  great  prince  on  His  throne,  high  and 
powerful,  and  we  never  realized  that  He  was  our 
brother,  and  that  He  was  full  of  the  most  tender 
love  to  us  personally,  and  that  He  was  think- 
ing about  us,  and  longing  for  us  to  understand 
Him  and  know  Him,  that  we  might  receive  and 
respond  to  His  great  love.  So  this  is  the  first 
thought  which  we  have  found  shining  in  the  silver 
cup. 

Now  let  us  look  again,  and  see  something  else. 
See  Benjamin  going  away  from  Joseph,  without 
knowing  him.  They  bought  their  corn  and 
turned  away  to  go  home.  And  probably  as  Jo- 
seph looked  on  Benjamin  getting  ready  to  go 
home  he  thought:  *' There  is  my  little  brother 
going  away,  and  going  away  without  knowing 
who  I  am  and  how  much  I  love  him.  If  I  let  him 
go  back  to  his  home  the  chances  are  he  will  never 
come  back,  and  he  will  never  in  this  world  know 
me  as  his  brother  —  will  never  know  how  I  love 
him,  never  know  how  much  I  want  to  do  for  him. 
I  cannot  let  him  thus  break  away  from  me  with- 
out knowing  me.  I  must  arrange  something  that 
[  205  ] 


Cl^e  Oilier  €np 

will  bring  him  back  to  me  of  his  own  accord  at  a 
time  when  I  can  make  myself  fully  known  to  him. 
I  know  what  I  will  do.  I  will  take  something  of 
my  own,  something  precious  and  sacred,  and  put 
it  in  his  keeping  without  his  knowledge,  and  by 
and  by  he  will  find  it  out  that  he  has  something 
which  belongs  to  me  and  he  will  come  back  of  his 
own  accord,  and  put  his  life  in  my  hands,  and  then 
I  will  show  him  who  I  am  and  he  will  know  me 
and  know  my  love."  And  so  with  these  thoughts 
in  his  mind,  Joseph  took  that  precious  silver 
cup  and  secretly  put  it  in  Benjamin's  bag,  and 
waited.  And  this  I  think  is  like  what  Jesus  is 
doing  to-day  for  his  younger  brothers  and  sisters. 
He  sees  a  dear  boy  or  girl  standing  before  Him, 
quite  unconscious  of  His  love  and  ready  to  turn 
to  go  away  without  knowing  Him,  perhaps  never 
more  in  this  world  to  come  back  to  Him,  and  He 
says :  "  My  child,  I  cannot  let  you  go  from  me  for- 
ever. I  must  put  something  of  mine  in  your  life 
which  you  will  find  after  a  while  and  which  will 
bring  you  back  to  me  of  your  own  accord."  And 
what  is  it  He  puts  in  your  life  ?  Something  infi- 
nitely more  precious  than  silver  or  gold,  some- 
thing that  is  indeed  His  own  —  a  living  power  — 
the  Holy  Spirit.  And  I  believe  that  this  day  He  is 
[  206  ] 


Cl^e  ^ttbtv  Cup 

putting  His  Spirit  into  some  hearts  that  do  not 
yet  know  Him  as  their  brother,  and  perhaps  after 
many  days,  and  after  they  have  wandered  far 
from  Christ,  they  will  discover  what  there  is  in 
their  life  that  belongs  to  Christ,  and  that  great 
discovery  will  bring  them  anxiously  to  His  feet, 
to  find  Him  out  in  all  the  fullness  of  His  love. 

And  now  let  us  look  once  more,  and  for  the 
third  and  last  time,  into  the  silver  cup  wherein 
is  shining  so  brightly  the  sunbeams  of  Christ's 
love,  and  what  shall  we  see  ?  We  shall  see  how 
Benjamin,  the  younger  brother,  was  led  back  to 
Joseph,  the  older  brother,  to  find  out  all  the  love 
that  was  in  store  for  him.  Benjamin  was  going 
away,  and  was  getting  farther  and  farther  away, 
when  suddenly  something  happened  that  led  to 
a  great  discovery.  The  servant  of  Joseph  came 
after  him  and  told  him  he  had  something  precious 
in  his  possession  that  belonged  to  Joseph.  At  first 
he  would  not  believe  it ;  but  then  he  began  to  look, 
and  he  found  that  he  had  the  precious  silver  cup. 
He  was  anxious,  he  was  troubled,  and  with  a 
heavy  heart  he  went  back  to  the  prince  to  be  his 
slave.  And  the  moment  the  prince  saw  his  dear 
young  life  coming,  so  sad,  so  anxious,  so  con- 
fused, that  great  prince  threw  his  arms  around 
[  207  ] 


his  neck  and  said,  '*I  am  your  brother.  I  put 
that  precious  thing  into  your  bag  that  you  might 
find  it  and  be  troubled  and  come  back  to  me,  for 
I  longed  to  have  you  know  me,  I  longed  to  be  able 
to  do  for  you  all  that  was  in  my  heart." 

Ah!  my  child,  you  can  understand  this.  To 
some  of  you  the  day  has  already  come,  to  others 
of  you  the  day  will  surely  come,  when  I,  or  some 
other  messenger  of  the  royal  prince,  our  Saviour, 
will  follow  you  and  tell  you  you  have  something 
in  your  life  which  is  precious  and  which  belongs 
to  Christ,  and  you,  searching  your  own  thoughts, 
will  discover  in  yourself  with  anxious,  confused, 
and  new  emotions  this  mystery  of  the  Holy 
Spirit,  and  perhaps  heavy-hearted,  tearful,  feeling 
that  your  life  is  all  upside  down,  you  come  to 
Christ  of  your  own  accord,  because  you  cannot 
stay  away.  And  He  meets  you,  not  with  stern 
rebukes  and  with  threatenings  of  punishment, 
but  with  open  arms  and  beaming  face  and  lov- 
ing heart,  to  give  you  a  brother's  welcome,  and  to 
make  you  know  Him  as  He  is.  Wonderful,  won- 
derful joy  to  know  Jesus  as  our  brother,  to  feel 
that  He  takes  away  the  burdens  and  supplies  the 
wants  of  our  heart ;  that  He  gives  a  new  meaning 
to  our  life,  a  new  direction  to  our  powers. 
[  208  ] 


Ci^e  ^ilbtv  €np 


I've  found  a  Friend;    Oh!  such  a  friend, 

He  loved  me  ere  I  knew  Him; 
He  drew  me  with  the  cords  of  love. 

And  thus  he  bound  me  to  Him; 
And  round  my  heart  still  closely  twine 

Those  ties  which  nought  can  sever. 
For  I  am  His  and  He  is  mine 

Forever  and  forever. 

Amen. 


91  Rummer  JHessase 

"31  toifl  netoer  leabe  ttee  nor  foriSaftc  tbee " 
Hebrews  13  :  5 

The  summer  is  something  we  all  love  and  are 
thankful  for.  What  lovely  times  many  of  you  have 
in  the  summer !  Why,  it  is  a  perfect  dream !  You 
are  just  as  free  as  birds.  No  school,  no  work, 
except  a  very  little,  fresh  air,  green  fields,  tennis, 
bicycles,  boats,  plunges  in  the  cool  sea,  merry 
walks  over  the  hills ;  I  cannot  begin  to  tell  all  the 
beautiful  things  you  will  do ;  and  meantime  you 
will  be  growing  brown  and  strong,  and  over  your 
dear  heads  the  days  and  weeks  will  fly  like  swift 
and  buoyant  birds. 

I  do  not  believe  there  is  one  child  here  who 
loves  summer  any  better  than  I  do.  Nobody 
could  love  it  better.  In  fact,  it  sometimes  seems 
to  me  in  the  summer-time,  off  among  the  boats 
and  the  breakers,  that  I  go  back  about  twenty 
years  on  the  road  that  leads  toward  my  boyhood. 
I  am  just  as  glad  as  one  of  you  to  get  a  pair  of 
oars  in  my  hands,  or  to  race  down  the  shining 
beach  and  bound  into  the  surf. 
[  210  ] 


a  Rummer  iWejssiaQe 

But  do  you  know  there  is  one  thing  about  the 
coming  of  summer  that  I  do  not  enjoy,  and  I 
enjoy  it  less  and  less  as  I  grow  older,  and  that  is, 
not  the  heat,  for  I  like  hot  weather  and  cold 
weather  and  all  kinds  of  weather  just  as  they 
come;  and  not  the  packing  up,  for  I  think  I  was 
a  born  traveler  and  would  be  ready  any  day  to 
pack  up  and  go  around  the  world,  if  it  were  not 
for  leaving  some  people  behind ;  but  its  just  that 
very  thing  I  do  not  enjoy,  and  I  enjoy  it  less  and 
less  as  I  grow  older ;  it  is  leaving  some  people 
behind,  whom  I  cannot  take  with  me.  I  do  not 
enjoy  the  way  so  many  of  us  who  are  friends  have 
to  leave  and  forsake  one  another  when  summer 
comes.  Why,  nowadays,  when  many  people  go 
from  town  very  early  and  come  back  very  late  it 
is  true  that  about  half  the  year  is  broken  up  by 
these  separations.  And  when,  children,  you  get 
along  in  life,  even  so  far  as  I  have  gone,  you  feel, 
if  you  love  some  people  much,  and  depend  upon 
them  much,  that  it  throws  just  a  little  shadow, 
even  on  the  bright,  sunny  summer,  to  have  to 
spend  half  your  life  in  leaving  people  with  whom 
you  would  like  to  stay.  Yet,  after  all,  when  you 
come  to  think  it  all  over,  this  is  just  about  what 
one  half  of  life  is,  —  leaving  people,  or  being  left 
[  211  ] 


by  them,  and  getting  used  to  it.  Now,  you  know, 
I  think  it  is  very  hard  work,  getting  used  to  it; 
and  I  am  not  so  sure  that  I  want  to  get  used  to  it. 
I  am  not  so  sure  that  I  want  to  see  the  time  when 
I  can  go  away  from  people  without  caring  or  have 
them  go  away  from  me  without  feeling  lonely. 

I  met  a  man  once,  not  quite  as  old  as  I,  who 
told  me  his  father  and  mother  died  when  he  was 
hardly  more  than  a  baby,  and  he  was  put  with  an 
unkind  guardian,  from  whom  he  ran  away  as 
soon  as  he  could,  and  took  care  of  himself  ever 
after,  living  in  boarding-houses,  hotels,  lodgings, 
all  over  the  country.  And  he  said  to  me :  '*  I  never 
knew  what  it  was  to  feel  that  I  had  a  home  for 
one  day,  nor  to  have  one  person  care  whether  I 
came  or  went.  And  now,"  he  said,  '*  I  care  for 
nobody.  It  makes  no  difference  to  me  whether  I 
leave  people  or  stay  with  them.  I  like  one  place 
as  well  as  another,  and  I  don't  know  what  it  is  to 
lose  a  friend,  for  the  simple  reason  I  never  had 
one  to  lose."  I  looked  at  that  man  in  perfect 
amazement.  I  thought  to  myself:  Is  it  possible 
for  a  man  thirty  years  old  never  to  have  known 
what  it  is  to  love  or  to  be  loved  by  anybody.  And 
when  I  thought  how  different  my  life  had  been 
all  the  way  through,  how  full  of  love,  how  rich 
[  212  ] 


a  Rummer  pLma^t 

with  precious  associations,  it  seemed  to  me  I 
could  not  pity  him  enough,  and  that  I  must  try  to 
help  every  one  to  prize  and  to  guard  everything 
in  life  that  tends  to  keep  friends  together  and 
make  them  cling  to  one  another. 

I  know,  of  course,  there  are  a  good  many 
fathers  and  mothers  who  say :  "  The  world  is  full 
of  separation  and  leave-takings  and  that  sort  of 
thing,  and  you  have  got  to  train  children  to  get 
used  to  it  —  to  depend  on  themselves,  not  to  be 
so  dependent  on  others."  That  may  be  all  true 
enough.  The  world  is  full  of  partings,  and  the 
days  may  come  to  you,  dear  boys  and  girls,  when 
you  may  have  to  depend  on  yourselves  very 
largely,  and  it  is  always  a  good  thing  to  be  able  to 
take  care  of  yourself  and  to  do  for  yourself.  But  I 
think  there  is  mpve  than  one  way  to  teach  a  child 
how  to  do  that.  And  I  do  not  think  the  best  way 
to  teach  a  child  to  be  brave  is  by  leaving  it  alone 
to  shift  for  itself,  by  throwing  it  out  of  the  nest 
before  it  can  fly  a  stroke,  and  leaving  it  to  get  its 
strength  through  suffering.  I  think  God  wants  us 
to  be  brave  and  strong,  but  His  way  to  make  us 
so  does  not  seem  to  be  by  leaving  us.  I  think  His 
way  is  to  stay  by  us,  surrounding  us  with  His 
presence  and  teaching  us  how  to  use  our  powers. 
[  213  ] 


I  think  God  says :  not,  "I  will  leave  you  to  your- 
self to  find  your  own  way  through  the  world,"  but 
this :  "I  will  never  leave  you  nor  forsake  you."  I 
have  met  some  good  people  here  and  there  who 
think  the  best  way  to  make  a  child  brave  and 
strong  and  useful  is  to  leave  him  to  himself,  to 
fight  his  way  alone.  And  they  begin  that  sort  of 
thing  with  little  babies  three  months  old.  Bed- 
time comes  on,  and  baby  must  be  undressed  and 
laid  down  in  her  crib,  and  out  goes  the  gas  and 
up  goes  baby's  bitter  crying,  frightened,  desolate, 
lonely,  left  by  her  father  and  mother,  who  are  just 
like  God  to  her ;  and  her  poor  little  baby  universe 
is  about  as  black  and  wild  to  her  as  ours  would  be 
to  us  with  God  gone  out  of  it.  "Never  mind," 
says  the  mother,  as  the  piercing  cries  of  the  terri- 
fied little  lamb  echo  downstairs,  grown  more 
hoarse  and  more  desperate  until  tney  die  away  in 
pitiful  sleepy  sobs,  —  *' Never  mind;  baby  must 
learn  to  be  left ;  she  must  cry  herself  to  sleep ;  she 
will  have  to  meet  it  in  life,  and  she  might  as  well 
begin  now." 

Oh !  I  do  not  believe  in  that  way.  I  am  afraid 

of  it  —  afraid  that  the  babies  who  cry  themselves 

to  sleep  because  their  parents  wanted  them  to  get 

used  to  being  left,  may  all  too  soon  get  used  to 

[  214  ] 


a  Rummer  iHejSjsage 

being  left,  may  grow  to  find  that  they  do  not  need 
their  parents  —  may  grow  from  that  to  think 
they  do  not  need  their  Father  in  Heaven  to  stay 
with  them  and  watch  over  them.  I  thank  God  for 
the  children  to  whose  infant  fancies  their  parents 
seemed  like  God,  never  leaving  nor  forsaking 
them,  always  at  hand  to  hear  their  cry,  always 
ready  to  bear  them  in  the  everlasting  arms  of 
love,  always  helping  the  child  to  quietness  and 
goodness,  not  by  leaving  it  alone  to  sob  itself  to 
sleep,  but  staying  by  with  a  patient  pity  like  God's 
patient  pity,  to  teach  it  and  to  help  it  to  be  quiet 
and  to  be  good.  Then  a  child  whose  father  and 
mother  have  been  to  it  like  God  grows  to  think 
of  God  as  a  Father  whose  heart  is  gentle,  whose 
arms  are  strong;  of  God  as  one  who  comforts 
as  a  mother  comforteth ;  of  God  as  near,  always 
near,  never  leaving,  never  forsaking.  I  will  never 
leave  you  —  never  —  never. 

No!  I  think  babyhood  and  childhood  are  too 
short  to  lose  one  hour  of  a  parent's  care  that  can 
possibly  be  given;  I  think  the  little  nest  is  too 
wonderful  to  be  stirred  one  day  before  the  time 
that  has  to  be.  I  think  that  all  the  pure  and  holy 
friendships  we  can  have  are  too  necessary  to  us, 
to  be  risked  in  any  way  needlessly,  thoughtlessly, 
[  215] 


Ci^e  ^ilber  Cup 

or  spitefully.  Why  do  I  add  that  last  word  spite- 
fully? Because  it  is  in  the  spirit  of  spitefulness 
some  of  the  holiest,  truest,  and  most  necessary 
relationships  of  life  are  being  risked  and  trifled 
with  day  by  day.  A  little  quarrel  springs  up, 
about  some  trifling  thing  which  in  itself  amounts 
almost  to  nothing  when  compared  with  the  great 
objects  of  life,  and  lo  and  behold!  people  who 
occupy  the  most  sacred  possible  relations  to  one 
another  —  relations  which  are  necessary  and  pre- 
cious :  a  sister  and  a  brother ;  a  mother  and  a 
daughter;  a  son  and  his  father;  a  husband  and 
wife;  two  girl  friends;  two  boy  friends;  a  man 
and  a  woman  —  seem  to  lose  all  sense  of  the  dig- 
nity and  importance  of  the  relation  they  sustain 
to  each  other,  and  force,  on  one  side  or  the  other, 
this  wretched  quarrel  which  is  insignificant  com- 
pared with  the  relationship  it  is  endangering, 
until  these  two  lives  are  just  about  ready  to  leave 
and  forsake  each  other.  It  is  too  bad,  too  terrible 
the  ways  in  which  friendships  are  risked,  wasted, 
thrown  needlessly  away  in  this  world  where  the 
great,  solemn,  unavoidable  changes  of  life  are 
marching  on  apace  to  us  all.  It  is  risking  all  for 
nothing :  as  two  children  may  go  out  rowing  in  a 
crank  boat,  some  little  dispute  arises  about  an  oar 
[  216] 


or  a  seat;  they  struggle  for  it,  capsize  the  boat, 
are  drowned.  What  for?  For  nothing.  Oh!  if 
there  should  be  one  child  here,  tempted  to  draw 
away  from  a  brother,  a  sister,  a  father,  a  mother, 
because  of  something  you  do  not  like;  or  if  there 
should  be  an  older  life,  forsaking  another  for 
some  little  incident  which  has  made  a  quarrel,  — 
I  say  it  must  not,  shall  not,  be.  Life  is  too  short, 
love  too  precious  and  too  rare  to  trifle  with.  It  is 
monstrous  to  sacrifice  one  friendship  needlessly, 
when  so  many  have  to  go  in  the  course  of  time. 
Pride  and  spite  fill  the  world  with  needless  hard- 
ship. Keep  all  the  love  you  can.  Too  much  has 
to  be  given  up.  Keep  what  you  can.  If  any  that 
might  be  kept  is  in  danger,  secure  it  ere  you  sleep 
to-night. 

For  I  assure  you,  my  child,  if  you  live  in  this 
world  till  you  grow  old,  you  will  have  to  stand 
many  partings,  many  separations,  many  shocks, 
many  changes  in  yourself  and  in  others  which 
cannot  be  escaped.  This  is  the  thing  perhaps 
hardest  for  you  to  realize  now  if  you  are  happy  and 
well.  It  seems  as  if  things  would  go  on  this  way 
always.  But  they  will  not.  They  will  change  and 
you  will  change;  and  many  of  the  things  that 
interest  you  now  will  no  longer  interest  you,  and 
[  217  ] 


Ci^e  ^ilUv  Cup 

many  of  the  things  that  would  still  have  inter- 
ested you  will  go  away  from  you.  Other  things 
will  come  in;  some  that  you  do  like,  some  that 
you  do  not  like.  Now  when  I  tell  you  this,  I  can 
fancy  what  a  desolate  thought  it  seems  to  be  to 
some  of  your  hearts,  particularly  to  you  who  are 
happiest. 

Do  you  remember  the  story  of  the  little  girl  (I 
think  Mrs.  Moles  worth  tells  it)  who  went  to  bed 
in  her  own  pretty  room,  where  all  was  so  safe 
and  sweet  and  snug,  and  she  had  a  dream.  She 
dreamed  that  she  awoke  shivering  with  cold. 
The  door  of  her  room  was  gone  ;  the  window  was 
gone ;  every  door,  every  window  in  the  house  was 
gone  —  great  holes  in  the  place  of  them ;  a  great 
hole  in  place  of  the  front  door,  and  through  all 
these  holes  in  the  house  the  wind  and  the  rain  and 
the  snow  were  driving  in :  the  house  was  as  cold 
as  outdoors  —  no  shelter  anywhere  —  everything 
dreary  and  desolate.  Now  it  is  a  thought  almost 
like  that  little  girl's  dream,  to  a  happy  child 
whose  home  life  is  sweet  and  safe,  that  by  and 
by  there  are  going  to  be  changes ;  things  are  not 
going  to  be  the  same  always.  That  thought  is 
very  hard.  It  seems  to  take  all  the  doors  and 
windows  off  your  life  which  was  so  snug  and  safe, 
[  218  ] 


a  Rummer  PLmaq^t 

and  to  let  the  cold  night  wind  blow  through  your 
soul. 

Why,  then,  do  I  put  such  a  thought  into  your 
head  ?  I  certainly  do  not  put  it  there  for  the  sake 
of  troubling  you.  I  put  it  into  your  head  for  three 
reasons.  One  reason  is,  because  it  is  true.  There 
are  going  to  be  changes  in  your  life.  I  do  not  say 
you  are  going  to  be  unhappy.  I  do  not  know  any- 
thing about  that.  I  hope  you  are  going  to  have  a 
very  happy  life.  But  I  say  there  are  going  to  be 
changes,  great  changes.  Things  will  not  always 
go  on  as  they  are  going  now. 

Another  reason  why  I  put  this  thought  in  your 
head  is  that  you  may  love  and  prize  every  good 
and  dear  thing  you  have  as  long  as  you  have  it. 
Your  dear  mother,  your  dear  father,  for  example. 
Love  them  and  prize  them  as  long  as  you  have 
them.  And  all  the  sweet  things  about  your  home, 
all  your  chances  to  study  and  improve  yourself, 
all  your  summers  in  the  country,  all  your  friends, 
all  the  happy  days  of  peace  and  freedom;  love 
them,  prize  them  while  they  last;  and  then,  if 
they  ever  go,  and  things  come  in  their  stead  not 
at  all  pleasant  and  easy,  you  will  at  least  have 
the  comfort  of  knowing  that  you  prized  and  en- 
joyed to  the  utmost  the  best  that  was  in  the  past, 
[  219  ] 


Ci^e  filter  Cup 

and  your  memories  will  be  a  continual  feast  to 
you. 

But  there  is  another  reason,  the  third  and  most 
important  of  all,  why  I  have  put  into  your  heads 
to-day  the  thought  that  things  may  change,  that 
life  may  become  very  different  from  what  it  is 
to-day.  I  want  to  bring  right  home  to  your  heart, 
along  with" the  thought  of  changes,  the  most  pre- 
cious truth  that  whoever  goes,  whoever  stays, 
Jesus  will  stay  with  you  through  everything,  on, 
to  the  end.  *'I  will  never  leave  you  nor  forsake 
you."  No  matter  what  happens,  no  matter  what 
shocks  you  get  in  regard  to  your  friends,  finding 
this  one  and  that  one  swept  away  from  you, 
Christ  stays.  He  never  leaves  you  nor  forsakes 
you.  You  can  be  sure  of  Him.  And  you  can  be 
sure  that  even  the  changes  that  come  in  yourself, 
the  growing  older,  the  new  thoughts,  new  inter- 
ests, new  decisions  that  come  as  you  grow  older 
will  not  drive  Him  away  from  you.  If  He  is  your 
friend  in  childhood  and  you  have  loved  Him  and 
prayed  to  Him  as  a  child,  so  also  will  He  be  your 
friend  when,  grown  up,  with  new  thoughts  in 
your  mind,  and  with  a  new  and  untried  work  to 
do  in  life,  you  shall  sometimes  tremble  to  think 
how  the  years  are  changing  you.  Is  it  not  strange 
[  220  ] 


and  beautiful.  Jesus  Christ  can  be  with  a  little 
child,  understanding  its  thoughts  and  accept- 
ing its  love.  Jesus  Christ  can  be  with  the  great 
grown-up  man,  who  was  once  that  little  child 
and  yet  is  now  so  dijfferent,  and  the  man  finds  in 
Jesus  all  that  manhood  needs  just  as  the  child 
found  in  the  same  Jesus  all  that  its  childhood 
required. 

Oh !  my  dear  younger  friends,  let  these  words 
sink  down  into  your  hearts.  I  am  filled  with 
thoughts  of  your  future,  of  the  years  that  lie 
before  you ;  and  I  want  to  commend  to  you,  with 
all  the  strength  and  earnestness  I  can  use,  that 
Friend  who  has  promised,  saying,  '*I  will  never 
leave  you  nor  forsake  you."  I  cannot  of  course 
tell  what  is  going  to  happen  to  you  in  life.  The 
only  thing  I  can  be  sure  of  is  that  changes  will 
come  to  you,  and  I  know  that  you  need  not  be 
afraid  to  meet  any  change,  even  the  hardest  that 
could  possibly  come,  if  you  have  given  your  life 
into  the  keeping  of  the  Lord  Jesus.  If  you  have 
done  that,  or  if  you  will  do  it  now,  you  can  say : 
**I  will  fear  no  evil,  for  Thou  art  with  me."  To 
put  your  life  in  Jesus'  care,  and  to  live  it  day  by 
day  with  the  thought  that  it  is  in  His  care,  will 
make  you  strong  enough  to  meet  anything  that 
[  221  ] 


Ci^e  filter  Cup 

can  possibly  come  to  you.  If  you  can  say,  *'  Christ 
is  with  me  to  help  me,"  there  is  nothing  for  you 
to  fear  as  the  changes  come.  The  presence  of 
Christ  gives  you  strength  to  meet  the  change, 
steadies  you  as  you  go  through  it,  readjusts  your 
life  to  fill  the  change.  You  can  count  on  Him 
every  time.  No  matter  who  disappoints  you.  He 
will  not.  No  matter  who  turns  against  you.  He 
will  not.  No  matter  who  leaves  you.  He  will 
not.  When  you  have  to  face  people  in  this  world 
who  do  not  think  as  you  think,  nay,  who  may 
laugh  at  what  you  think,  there  is  the  Lord  Jesus 
with  you ;  and  when  you  blush  and  falter.  He  is 
right  there  to  whisper:  "Do  not  be  frightened; 
do  not  get  discouraged.  I  will  never  leave  you 
nor  forsake  you." 

When  you  consecrate  your  life  to  noble  and 
good  things,  trying  to  make  the  most  of  it,  and 
then  there  come  those  times  of  weak  faith  when 
for  a  moment  you  are  tempted  to  let  everything 
go  and  to  follow  the  bad,  then  He  is  right  with 
you,  to  say :  "  Cling  to  me ;  I  will  hold  you ;  you 
shall  not  fall  away  from  Me." 

And  when  the  hour  of  suffering  comes  —  yes 
—  and  the  hour  when  it  begins  to  come  to  our 
minds  that  perhaps  we  —  even  we  —  may  die, 
[  222  ] 


31  Rummer  0imaq,z 

then  I  am  sure  He  will  show  us  how  very  near  He 
is.  He  will  not  leave  us  to  cry  ourselves  to  sleep; 
He  will  hold  us  in  His  strong  and  gentle  arms, 
and  our  heads  will  rest,  as  if  upon  His  shoulder, 
and  all  the  fear  will  go  away,  and  our  last  thought 
as  we  fall  asleep  shall  be  that  He  is  near  and  we 
are  safe  with  Him.   Amen. 


#oti  ttft  jTatljer 

"  gout  iFatber  ttj|)icb  i^  in  J^eaben  " 
St.  Matthew  5  :  48 

I  WANT  to  begin  this  sermon  by  telling  you  a 
real  true  story.  It  is  not  much  of  a  story,  but  it 
is  true,  and  it  will  explain  why  this  sermon  is 
preached. 

Not  so  very  long  ago  there  lived  three  children 
in  a  house  by  the  sea.  And  on  the  hill  where  was 
their  home  there  stood  also  a  little  house  that 
looked  as  if  it  had  been  found  in  a  picture-book. 
It  was  built  for  the  children  and  it  was  their  very 
own.  It  had  a  tiny  little  entrance  hall  and  two 
tiny  rooms,  with  windows  that  could  open  and 
shut  like  real  windows,  and  a  tiny  piazza  running 
all  around  the  house.  The  children  called  this 
house  *'  The  Cottage,"  and  they  had  loved  it  all 
their  lives.  They  played  in  it  day  by  day;  they 
trained  sweet  peas  and  scarlet  poppies  to  grow 
in  front  of  it;  they  held  dinner-parties  in  one  of 
the  rooms.  It  was  beautiful  on  every  day  in  the 
week,  but  on  Sundays  it  was  most  beautiful  of  all. 
For  on  Sundays  the  children  set  fresh  flowers  in 
[  224  ] 


the  rooms,  and  went  there  on  Sunday  afternoon 
with  their  father  and  mother  to  hold  a  service. 
They  would  sing  hymns,  and  say  many  Bible 
verses  and  the  Creed,  and  give  an  offering  for 
missions,  and  their  father  would  preach  them  a 
little  sermon.  They  could  say,  if  they  chose,  what 
they  wanted  the  sermon  to  be  about,  and  while 
their  father  was  preaching  they  could  ask  him 
questions.  The  children  had  often  heard  their 
father  speak  of  the  Holy  Trinity,  —  God  the  Fa- 
ther, God  the  Son,  and  God  the  Holy  Spirit,  — 
and  one  of  them  thought  it  would  be  very  nice  if 
there  could  be  three  sermons  about  the  Trinity. 
So  those  sermons  were  preached :  on  one  Sunday 
afternoon  a  sermon  about  God  the  Father,  and 
the  next  Sunday  afternoon  a  sermon  about  God 
the  Son,  and  the  next  Sunday  afternoon  a  ser- 
mon about  God  the  Holy  Spirit.  And  the  chil- 
dren liked  these  sermons  very  much  and  asked 
many  questions  while  their  father  was  preach- 
ing. 

Now  I  happened  to  know  that  these  Trinity 
sermons  were  preached,  and  that  the  children 
seemed  to  get  from  them  some  great  glad  thoughts 
about  God;  and  also  I  happened  to  know  that 
their  mother  said :  "  Why  could  not  three  Trinity 
[  225  ] 


sermons  be  preached  at  the  first  three  children's 
services  this  year." 

The  more  I  thought  about  it,  the  more  it 
seemed  to  me  that  you  would  like  to  have  this 
done.  I  xould  see  good  reasons  why  it  should 
be  done.  I  know  that  you  think  about  God. 
Thoughts  of  God  pass  through  your  minds; 
sometimes  very  often,  sometimes  less  often.  And 
your  thoughts  about  God  are  sometimes  very 
earnest  inquiring  thoughts.  You  wish  you  un- 
derstood Him  better  and  knew  more  about  Him. 
This  is  certainly  one  reason  why  I  should  talk  to 
you  about  God. 

Another  reason  is :  God  wants  you  to  know 
Him  better  and  better  all  the  time  and  to  have 
your  mind  filled  with  thoughts  of  Him.  He  says 
to  you  in  His  Word :  "Acquaint  thyself  with  God, 
and  be  at  peace."  "Remember  now  thy  Creator 
in  the  days  of  thy  youth."  Still  another  reason  is 
that  there  is  nothing  in  all  the  world  so  beautiful, 
so  grand,  so  inspiring  as  clear,  intelligent  thoughts 
about  God.  When  those  thoughts  fill  your  mind 
you  cannot  do  wrong,  and  you  cannot  be  discour- 
aged, for  those  thoughts  are  like  doorkeepers  in 
your  mind,  keeping  out  bad  thoughts;  they  are 
like  strong  arms  put  underneath  your  life,  keep- 
[  226  ] 


(0otJ  ti^e  fat])tv 

ing  it  from  utter  discouragement.  "This,"  said 
Jesus,  **is  life  eternal,"  this  is  the  perfection  of 
living,  the  grandest  thing  in  all  life,  *'that  they 
might  know  Thee,  the  only  true  God,  and  Jesus 
Christ,  whom  Thou  hast  sent." 

And  yet  one  other  reason  why  it  would  be  a 
good  thing  to  have  some  talks  about  God  is  that 
you  can  understand  them.  Thoughts  about  God 
are  not  too  hard  for  even  a  little  child  to  under- 
stand. Why?  Because  God  is  your  Father  and 
you  are  His  little  child ;  and  if  a  father  loves  his 
little  child,  and  the  little  child  loves  his  father, 
they  are  bound  to  understand  each  other.  Sup- 
pose some  one  said  to  you  about  your  father, 
'*You  are  too  young  to  think  anything  about 
him ;  you  must  wait  till  you  grow  up  before  you 
can  understand  who  he  is,  what  he  thinks  of  you, 
what  he  does  for  you;  what  w^ould  you  say  to 
that?  You  would  say,  "Nonsense!  I  may  be 
only  a  little  child,  but  I  know  my  father,  and  I 
love  him,  and  I  understand  him  when  he  talks  to 
me."  Of  course  you  do;  you  understand  him, 
you  know  who  he  is ;  and  just  so  you  can  under- 
stand that  greater  Father,  whose  child  you  are, 
—  "your  Father  which  is  in  Heaven." 

But  some  one  may  say  to  you :  "Perhaps  you 
[  227  ] 


Cl^e  filter  Cup 

can  understand  about  God,  but  you  are  far  too 
young  to  understand  about  the  Trinity.  The 
Trinity  is  a  great  mystery,  and  only  the  very 
wisest  persons  can  understand  the  Trinity."  To 
that  I  would  answer,  if  I  were  you  :  **The  Trin- 
ity is  no  doubt  a  great  mystery,  which  only  the 
very  wisest  persons  can  understand,  and  perhaps 
even  the  very  wisest  persons  cannot  understand 
all  about  the  Trinity.  But  then,  why  cannot  I, 
although  I  am  a  child,  understand  a  little  about 
the  Trinity ;  why  cannot  I  make  a  beginning  and 
learn  as  much  about  the  Trinity  as  a  child  can 
learn,  expecting  to  learn  more,  as  I  grow  up.^ 
Botany  is  a  great  subject,  and  very,  very  wise 
men  say  there  is  more  to  be  learned  in  botany 
than  the  very  wisest  have  yet  learned,  but  why 
may  not  a  child  know  a  little  about  botany,  if 
only  enough  to  be  called  a  beginning.^" 

My  child,  you  are  right.  As  you  go  into  the 
country  and  run  through  those  dear  meadows 
and  woods  that  you  love  so  well,  you  can  make  a 
beginning  in  botany  with  the  wild  flowers  grow- 
ing close  about  you ;  and  as  you  read  the  Bible  or 
hear  it  read,  and  thoughts  of  God  come  throng- 
ing through  your  mind,  you  can  make  a  begin- 
ning in  your  study  of  the  Trinity  by  finding  out  the 
[  228  ] 


(0OD  ti^e  m'iitv 

glorious  messages  of  the  Bible  about  the  Father, 
the  Son,  and  the  Holy  Spirit.  Do  not  let  any  one 
frighten  you  away  from  this  study  of  the  Trinity. 
You  have  as  much  right  to  study  this  as  any  one 
can  have,  for  you  are  God's  child.  Suppose  some 
one  says:  *' Child,  you  cannot  understand  the 
doctrine  of  the  Trinity."  Simply  say,  *'Then  I 
will  let  the  doctrine  alone,  and  will  only  study 
the  Trinity.  I  want  to  know  about  God,  and  I 
will  only  try  to  find  out  what  the  Bible  tells  me 
about  Him.  Sometimes  the  Bible  tells  me  about 
God  as  the  Father ;  sometimes  about  God  as  the 
Son;  sometimes  about  God  as  the  Holy  Spirit. 
May  not  I,  God's  child,  make  a  beginning  now 
in  understanding  the  Trinity,  hoping  to  under- 
stand it  better  later  on.^"  Yes,  dear,  you  may 
make  a  beginning  now,  if  you  have  not  already 
done  so,  and  we  will  all  make  a  fresh  beginning 
to-day  in  trying  to  understand  the  Trinity,  by 
talking  together  a  little  while  about  God  as  the 
Father,  the  Heavenly  Father. 

It  is  to  me  very  sweet  to  think  that  Jesus  gave 
us  our  text  for  to-day ;  for  the  words  of  our  text 
are  the  very  words  Jesus  spoke.  He  was  talking 
about  God,  and  was  saying  that  we  must  try  to  be 
like  God,  try  for  the  best  in  all  things,  try  to  be 
[  229  ] 


perfect  in  whatever  we  do,  keeping  before  our 
minds  as  an  example  the  perfect  way  in  which 
God  does  everything;  and  this  is  the  way  Jesus 
spoke  of  God:  "Be  ye  therefore  perfect,  even  as 
your  Father  which  is  in  Heaven  is  perfect."  Was 
not  that  beautiful!  "Your  Father  which  is  in 
Heaven."  What  a  tender,  holy,  heavenly  thought 
of  God  comes  to  us  as  we  say :  "  God  is  our  Fa- 
ther which  is  in  Heaven."  I  am  sure  that  I,  for 
one,  could  stop  right  here,  with  this  one  thought 
given  to  me  by  Christ : "  God  is  your  Father  which 
is  in  Heaven." 

That  thought,  if  we  take  it  all  alone,  and  add 
nothing  to  it,  simply  fills  one's  heart  with  peace 
and  strength.  It  is  so  large,  so  pure,  so  high  a 
thought,  and  yet  so  gentle,  so  helpful,  so  over- 
flowing with  love.  Father !  what  a  word  that  is  to 
some  of  us  in  our  earthly  homes !  What  a  world 
of  light  and  joy  and  inspiration  it  is  to  some  of 
you  to  think  of  your  own  dear  father  at  home ;  to 
have  him  with  you  day  by  day,  always  interested 
in  what  you  do,  always  giving  you  beautiful 
things ;  greeting  you  in  the  morning,  putting  you 
to  bed  at  night,  playing  with  you,  watching  over 
you,  praying  by  you  —  do  you  not  love  him, 
your  own  dear  father  ?  Would  you  not  ever  love 
[  230  ] 


him  and  remember  him,  if  he  were  to  die  and  go 
away?  And  this  same  name,  so  dear  to  you  at 
home,  is  one  of  the  names  of  God.  He  takes  it 
upon  Himself,  I  think,  because  you  can  so  well 
understand  it.  He  tells  you  that  He  is  "your 
Father  which  is  in  Heaven." 

Now,  I  say  that  I  for  one  could  stop  right  here, 
and  just  think  this  thought  over  and  over  again. 
But  I  want  you,  in  this  Ttinity  study  to-day,  to 
go  a  little  beyond  this  one  thought  that  God  is 
your  Father  which  is  in  Heaven,  and  to  make  a 
beginning  along  three  lines  that  will  lead  you  to 
a  much  wider  and  deeper  understanding  of  God 
as  your  Father.  What  does  God  do  for  us  as 
our  Father  ?  What  may  we  do  for  God  as  our 
Father.?  How  may  we  better  know  God  as  our 
Father  ? 

I  will  start  you  on  these  lines,  and  you  can 
follow  along  them  by  yourselves  as  far  as  you 
will.  But  I  am  not  going  to  start  you  on  these 
lines  by  giving  you  my  own  ideas  of  God  as  our 
Father,  for  they  might  not  be  altogether  the  best 
ideas  you  could  have.  I  am  going  to  start  you 
with  Bible  ideas  along  these  lines ;  and  thus  give 
you  not  only  the  very  best  ideas,  but  also  per- 
haps a  clearer  sense  of  how  to  find  out  in  the 
[  231  ] 


Bible  the  most  grand  and  beautiful  things  about 
God. 

You  will  remember  that  we  are  only  making  a 
beginning  on  these  lines,  and  this  we  can  do  very 
quickly  without  making  this  sermon  a  bit  longer 
than  it  should  be.  As,  in  your  Trinity  studies 
about  God  as  the  Father,  you  proceed  to  ask: 
"What  does  God  do  for  us  as  our  Father.?" 
Open  your  New  Testament  and  see  how  a  great 
line  of  thought  opens  out  in  it,  to  answer  your 
question.  I  simply  start  you  on  that  line.  The 
New  Testament  says:  '* Every  good  gift  and 
every  perfect  gift  is  from  above,  and  cometh 
down  from  the  Father."  Is  not  that  magnificent ! 
What  a  picture  of  the  w^ay  the  Father  gives. 
Every  good  gift.  Not  the  horrible  and  evil  and 
diseased  and  sinful  things  that  come  to  us  — 
they  do  not  come  from  the  Father ;  only  the  good 
and  the  perfect  gifts.  Whatever  makes  the  world 
more  beautiful,  whatever  makes  life  nobler  and 
better,  whatever  makes  us  stronger  and  com- 
pleter in  body,  mind,  and  soul,  —  these  things 
come  from  the  Father  which  is  in  Heaven.  And 
every  one  of  them  comes  from  Him ;  every  good 
gift.  No  matter  if  they  reach  us  through  human 
friends,  we  trace  them  all  right  back  to  the  dear 
[  232  ] 


Father  above,  and  believe  that  He  put  into  the 
earthly  friends'  hearts  the  thoughts  which  made 
them  do  as  they  did.  And  not  only  so ;  every  good 
gift  that  comes  into  the  world  to  beautify  it,  and 
to  strengthen  the  life  of  all  living  creatures,  is  a 
sign  of  the  Father's  care.  Sometimes  perhaps  in 
the  country  you  have  heard  the  birds  singing  at 
sunset  in  many  different  keys  and  notes,  as  if 
their  hearts  were  brimming  over  with  happiness, 
and  you  have  wondered  how  do  all  these  little 
creatures  get  taken  care  of  so  that  they  always 
seem  so  well  and  happy,  and  the  New  Testament 
answers:  This  also  is  from  the  Father,  *' Behold 
the  fowls  of  the  air,  for  they  sow  not,  neither  do 
they  reap,  nor  gather  into  barns ;  yet  your  hea- 
venly Father  feedeth  them."  Such  is  the  giving 
of  the  Father. 

Again,  the  New  Testament  tells  you  how  per- 
fectly the  Father  understands  your  thought: 
"Your  Father  knoweth  what  things  ye  have  need 
of  before  ye  ask  Him."  What  could  be  more 
wonderful  or  more  dear  than  that,  as  a  thought 
about  the  Father!  He  understands  you  per- 
fectly. He  knows  what  you  need  before  you  tell 
Him  what  you  need;  perhaps  before  you  know 
that  you  need  it.  That's  the  sort  of  difference 
[  233  ] 


Ci^e  ^imt  Cup 

between  a  child  at  home  and  a  child  among 
strangers.  A  child  at  home  —  if  it  is  a  truly 
peaceful  home,  where  parents  and  children  have 
always  lived  in  closest  fellowship  —  is  well 
understood.  And  to  many  a  child  it  is  the  great- 
est comfort  in  the  world  to  feel  that  it  is  well  un- 
derstood. A  little  child  finds  it  hard  sometimes 
to  explain  all  its  feelings  to  any  one.  Perhaps  it  is 
nervous,  or  in  some  other  way  not  quite  well,  or 
timid,  or  easily  discouraged,  and  when  it  goes  out 
among  strangers  it  sometimes  has  a  dreadful 
time,  because  nobody  seems  to  understand  just 
how  it  feels,  and  it  is  so  lonely  and  so  ill  at  ease. 
Sometimes  it  begins  to  cry  with  loneliness,  and 
then  what  a  joy  it  is  to  get  home,  and  find  that 
you  do  not  have  to  explain  anything  to  your 
mother,  or  be  embarrassed  before  your  father, 
because  they  just  know  you  through  and  through. 
But  even  when  at  home,  with  those  who  know  it 
best,  a  child  cannot  make  itself  understood.  A 
little  baby  will  cry  and  cry  as  if  its  heart  would 
break,  and  nobody  will  seem  to  understand  what 
it  is  crying  about.  It  is  too  young  to  talk,  and 
those  around  it  seek  in  vain  for  that  which  hurts 
it.  I  always  think  a  baby  has  a  reason  for  crying, 
when  it  cries.  I  do  not  think  babies  cry  for  no 
[  234  ] 


cause.  It  is  simply  a  question  whose  eyes  are 
keen  enough,  whose  wits  quick  enough  to  find 
the  cause,  and  know  what  the  child  needs.  And 
are  there  not  older  children  who  can  talk,  yet  who 
cannot  make  their  deepest  needs  understood, 
even  at  home :  thoughts  troubling  the  mind  which 
you  know  not  how  to  express;  a  burden  on  the 
heart  of  which  you  cannot  get  courage  to  speak 
to  any  one.  There  is  One,  and  He  the  dearest 
and  the  best  of  all  your  friends,  who  knows  that 
thought  which  troubles  you  — -that  burden  which, 
hidden  away  in  yourself,  is  heavy  on  your  heart. 
"Your  Father  knoweth  what  things  ye  have  need 
of  before  ye  ask  Him." 

Again,  the  New  Testament  tells  you  that  every 
moment  of  your  life  is  lived  in  plain  sight  of  your 
Father  which  is  in  Heaven.  "Your  Father  seeth 
in  secret."  You  do  not  see  Him,  but  He  sees  you. 
Never  are  you  alone.  Never  can  you  get  away 
where  holy  eyes  are  not  upon  you.  "Thou  God 
seest  me"  is  the  one  great  fact  that  applies  to 
every  moment  of  your  life.  This  is  alike  your 
comfort  and  your  safeguard.  Your  comfort 
when  for  any  reason  you  are  called  to  walk  in  a 
path  of  contact  that  seems  a  lonely  path.  Per- 
haps in  school  one  sometimes  feels  compelled  by 
[  2S5  ] 


a  sense  of  duty  to  refuse  to  do  something  which 
many  do,  but  which  you  cannot  feel  to  be  right. 
Your  decision  seems  to  drive  many  away  from 
you,  and  for  a  time  you  are  very  lonely;  yet,  be- 
cause you  are  doing  the  right  you  can  say  with 
Christ:  "And  yet  I  am  not  alone,  for  the  Father 
is  with  me:  the  Father  who  sees  in  secret  and 
knows  just  why  I  do  as  I  do."  So  also  is  this 
thought  a  safeguard  against  hidden  deeds  of 
wrong.  You  are  not  alone:  all  things,  the  most 
hidden  deeds  of  life  as  well  as  its  more  public  acts, 
are  open  before  the  eyes  of  Him  with  whom  we 
have  to  do. 

And  yet  once  again,  the  New  Testament  tells 
you  that  the  Father  cares  for  your  prayers  and 
longs  and  loves  to  have  you  draw  near  to  Him  with 
your  whole  heart.  Do  you  remember  those  won- 
derful words  in  the  fourth  chapter  of  St.  John, 
words  spoken  by  Jesus  to  the  woman  of  Samaria : 
"True  worshipers  shall  worship  the  Father  in 
spirit  and  in  truth,  for  the  Father  seeketh  such 
to  worship  Him."  I  think  that  is  so  great.  The 
Father  seeketh  such  to  worship  Him.  He  cares 
when  we  go  to  Him  with  our  hearts  full  of 
prayer  —  nay.  He  seeks  us  that  we  may  worship 
Him.  Suppose  you  went  to  your  father  wanting 
[  236  ] 


to  throw  your  arms  around  his  neck,  and  he  with- 
out looking  at  you  brushed  you  away,  saying, 
"Oh,  go  away;  child,  I  have  no  time  for  such 
nonsense ! "  would  you  not  feel  terribly  wounded 
and  sore  ?  But  suppose,  instead,  your  father,  busy 
as  he  is,  came  out  of  his  way  to  find  you,  ran 
upstairs  to  seek  you  out,  and  said:  "I  am  very 
busy,  but  I  must  have  you  with  me  for  a  little 
while."  Ah!  that  is  like  your  Father  which  is  in 
Heaven.  If  your  heart  is  true.  He  seeks  you  out, 
longing  to  have  you  worship  and  love  Him. 

Now  a  word  about  the  second  line  on  which 
you  can  work  out  for  yourself  in  this  Trinity 
study  of  the  Father.  I  have  started  you  on  the 
line  of  finding  out  what  God  does  for  us  as  our 
Father.  You  also  want  to  find  out  what  we  may 
do  for  God  as  our  Father.  The  New  Testament 
will  give  you  distinct  and  glorious  answers  on 
this  line.  I  just  suggest  a  few  of  them.  In  one 
place  it  says  :  "  Shall  we  not  be  in  subjection  unto 
the  Father  of  our  spirits  and  live  .^"  That  is  the 
thought  of  obeying  the  Father,  of  being  an  obedi- 
ent child  of  your  Father  which  is  in  Heaven.  You 
could  not  obey  the  Father  and  be  in  subjection  to 
Him  unless  you  knew  what  He  wants  you  to  do 
and  to  be,  and  the  Bible  fully  shows  you  what  the 
[  237  ] 


Father  would  have  you  do  and  be.  This  is  the 
will  of  God,  that  you  may  be  made  holy.  You 
can  obey  this  will  of  the  Father;  you  can  be  in 
subjection  to  the  Father  of  your  spirit  and  live. 
And  yet  this  life  of  subjection  to  your  Heavenly 
Father  is  not  in  the  least  a  sad  life.  On  the  con- 
trary, it  is  the  happiest  of  lives,  a  glad  companion- 
ship ;  for  the  New  Testament  says :  "  Truly  our 
fellowship  is  with  the  Father."  Yes,  it  is  fellow- 
ship. The  Father  and  you  are  friends.  I  trust  I 
shall  never  forget  the  day  when  a  little  compan- 
ion of  mine  threw  his  arm  about  me  and  walked 
at  my  side  saying:  "Papa!  you  and  I  are  great 
friends."  And  every  obedient  child  of  the  Hea- 
venly Father  may  look  up  into  His  face  and  say 
without  a  doubt :  "  Thou  and  I  are  great  friends." 
And  ther  e  are  tw  o  more  things  which  the  New 
Testament  says,  among  many  others,  that  we  may 
do  for  our  Father :  "  Pray  to  thy  Father."  "  Giv- 
ing thanks  unto  the  Father."  Pray  to  thy  Father. 
Well  may  you  pray  to  such  a  Father,  pouring  out 
your  whole  heart,  keeping  nothing  back,  telling 
Him  everything.  You  will  never  be  misunder- 
stood, never  sent  empty  away.  "He  knows  what 
you  have  need  of  before  you  ask  Him."  "Give 
thanks  to  the  Father."  It  is  meet  and  right  so  to 
[  238  ] 


do.  Does  not  your  heart  prompt  you  to  give  joy- 
ful thanks  to  your  father  at  home  when  he  brings 
you  something  that  you  dearly  love  to  receive. 
Do  not  forget  or  cease  to  thank  Him  from  whom 
every  good  and  perfect  gift  has  come.  Say 
"Thank  you"  every  day  to  God.  It  is  true  wor- 
ship. 

And  now,  as  we  close  our  Trinity  study  on  the 
Father,  let  me  just  in  a  word  start  you  on  that 
other  line  :  "  How  may  we  better  know  God  as  our 
Father."  You  will  find  this  great  question  an- 
swered in  the  words  of  Jesus,  as  St.  John  and 
St.  Luke  have  given  them.  Philip  the  disciple 
wanted  to  know  more  of  God  the  Father,  and 
said  to  Jesus :  ''Show  us  the  Father,"  and  Jesus 
said:  "He  that  hath  seen  Me  hath  seen  the 
Father."  And  in  one  very  happy  moment  in  the 
life  of  Jesus,  when  He  was  thanking  God  that 
even  little  children  may  know  about  the  Father, 
He  said:  "No  man  knoweth  who  the  Father  is 
but  the  Son,  and  he  to  whom  the  Son  will  reveal  j 
Him."  What  do  these  words  mean:  they  mean 
that  when  God  the  Son  came  to  earth,  and  lived 
here  as  the  Lord  Jesus,  He  came  to  show  us 
more  clearly  what  God  the  Father  is  like.  And  so 
if  you,  dear  child,  want  to  know  more  about  your 
[  239  ] 


Cl^e  Oilier  Cup 

Father  in  Heaven,  study  the  life  and  character 
and  words  of  Jesus,  for  in  Jesus  we  see,  as  in  a 
mirror,  the  perfect  image  of  the  Father. 

God  bless  you  all,  precious  children,  and  may 
it  be  yours  to  see  more  and  more  perfectly,  now 
in  your  childhood,  now  while  your  minds  are 
fresh  and  your  eyes  are  clear,  the  glory  of  God 
the  Father  shining  in  the  face  of  Jesus  Christ. 
Amen. 


C|)e  ^on  of  0oti 

"  (Clje  ;^on  of  <!BotJ,  tofto  lotieb  me  anb  satie  i^im?elf  for  me  " 
Galatians  2  :  20 

Many  of  you,  I  trust,  will  remember,  that  at 
our  last  children's  service  I  told  you  of  my  desire 
to  speak  to  you  about  the  Holy  Trinity  and  of  my 
plan  to  have  three  Trinity  sermons  for  children.  I 
thought  I  could  not  be  mistaken  in  believing  that 
many  of  you  wish  to  know  more  about  the  God 
whom  we  worship,  and  especially  to  have  clear 
ideas  about  what  the  Bible  really  tells  us  con- 
cerning God.  In  order  that  you  may  have  an  in- 
telligent belief  in  God,  your  bright,  strong  young 
minds  must  get  together  as  much  knowledge  as 
possible  concerning  God,  and  your  belief  and 
your  love  will  grow  out  of  that  knowledge.  Christ 
once  said:  "We  worship  what  we  know."  So, 
then,  if  you  would  worship  God,  find  out  as  much 
as  you  can  about  Him.  For  this  reason  I  am 
taking  you  children  to  the  Bible. 

If  you  can  find  out  what  the  Bible  says  about 
God,  you  are  just  so  much  richer  in  knowledge, 
and  your  worship  of  God  is  just  so  much  more 
[  241  ] 


intelligent  and  interested.  If  I  wanted  you  to  be 
interested  in  anything  —  in  pictures,  in  steam- 
ships, in  wild  flowers,  in  cathedrals  —  I  would 
take  you  as  far  as  possible  where  such  things  are 
that  you  might  see  for  yourselves,  and  know,  and 
grow  interested  through  knowledge.  And  inas- 
much as  I  desire  more  than  anything  else  that  you 
shall  be  interested  in  God,  I  take  you  as  far  as 
possible  to  the  place  where  you  can  find  out  most 
about  Him  —  that  is,  to  this  precious,  this  wonder- 
ful Bible.  I  bring  you  to  this  dear  book  because 
the  longer  I  study  it,  and  the  better  I  know  it,  the 
more  sure  am  I  that  it  is  God's  message  to  us, 
and  that  it  contains  information  about  Himself 
which  we  could  not  get  in  any  other  way  that 
has  yet  become  known  to  man.  Whatever  this 
book  tells  me  about  my  God,  I  believe  to  be  the 
truth :  I  believe  this  as  firmly  as  if  the  sky  had 
opened  and  I  had  seen  God  with  my  own  eyes. 
Thus  may  you  all  believe. 

And  what  this  dear  book  has  to  tell  us  about 
God  is,  above  all  else,  that  great  message  of  Who 
He  is.  The  message  of  the  Bible  about  God  is 
the  message  of  a  most  Holy  Trinity,  —  of  one 
God  who  is  Three  in  One :  God  the  Father,  God 
the  Son,  and  God  the  Holy  Spirit.  *'  Three  in  One 
[  242  ] 


€]^e  ^on  of  (BoD 

and  One  in  Three."  And  in  these  Trinity  ser- 
mons we  are  thinking  of  one  part  after  another  of 
this  threefold  message.  The  last  time  we  thought 
about  God  the  Father.  This  time  we  think  about 
God  the  Son.  The  next  time  we  hope  to  think 
about  God  the  Holy  Spirit.  And  I  do  not  want 
to  do  all  the  thinking  alone.  I  want  you  to  think 
with  me;  so  that  there  may  be  in  your  minds 
a  glorious  idea  of  the  Trinity  —  an  idea  of  God 
as  the  Three  in  One  which  shall  broaden  and 
broaden  in  your  thought,  just  as  the  sunlight 
broadens  on  the  hillside  when  the  clouds  are 
breaking  until  the  whole  sky  is  clear,  the  whole 
country  is  sunny.  So  may  the  thought  of  the 
Three  in  One  broaden  like  sunshine  in  your  life, 
year  by  year,  through  childhood,  youth,  man- 
hood, womanhood,  old  age,  until  the  time  when 
all  clouds  shall  break  away  from  your  sky  for- 
ever, and  you  shall  see  God  face  to  face,  and  shall 
love  Him  and  worship  Him  in  Heaven.  Never 
give  up  thinking  about  God  in  the  light  of  the 
Bible  message.  God  is  light,  and  to  think  about 
Him  is  to  live  in  His  light.  And  for  you,  my  little 
child,  to  live  in  the  sunlight  of  grand  thoughts 
about  God,  even  though  those  thoughts  are  often 
greater  than  you  can  understand,  makes  life 
[  243  ] 


healthy  and  noble  and  strong.  For  your  nature  is 
just  like  the  nature  of  a  plant.  Plants  are  made 
to  live  and  grow  in  the  bright,  sunshiny  air,  with 
the  light  streaming  down  from  the  sky  all  over 
them.  Shut  up  your  plants  in  dark  closets,  or  put 
them  down  in  cellars,  they  will  grow  yellow  and 
sickly,  for  they  need  the  heaven-born  light.  So 
you  need  the  heaven-born  light  of  truth.  You 
need  the  grand,  bright,  sunny  thought  of  God  to 
make  you  healthy  and  happy  and  holy.  Never 
go  away  out  of  the  sunlight  of  heavenly  thoughts. 
Breathe  that  fresh  air  of  holy  truth.  Love  the 
sunshine  of  Him  Who  is  the  light  of  the  world. 

But  perhaps  you  say:  "I  cannot  understand 
the  Trinity.  I  cannot  see  how  God  can  be  Three 
in  One."  Never  mind.  That  is  no  reason  why 
you  may  not  think  of,  rejoice  in  and  love  the 
Three  in  One.  Every  day  you  and  I  admire, 
rejoice  in,  and  love  things  we  cannot  understand. 
Many  of  us  have  heard,  here  or  in  Europe,  the 
greatest  pianists  or  violinists  of  the  world,  and  in 
their  work  was  a  magnificence  of  skill  and  power 
which  many  of  us  could  not  understand.  If  we 
ourselves  knew  enough  about  music  to  appreciate 
its  difficulties  it  was  all  the  harder  for  us  to  un- 
derstand how  the  hands  of  one  person  could  be 
[  244  ] 


€]^e  ^Dit  of  (Boa 

able,  even  with  the  highest  training,  to  overcome 
such  difficulties  and  produce  such  indescribably 
splendid  results.  Yet  did  we  not  rejoice  in  and 
love  that  glorious  music  that  was  welling  out 
upon  our  ears,  although  we  could  not  understand 
how  it  was  possible  for  a  man  or  a  woman  to 
make  it  ?  Or  when  we  are  away  in  the  country, 
how  little  we  can  understand  of  all  the  beauty 
and  magnificence  we  see  in  nature.  Plunge  your 
hand  down  in  the  black  mass  of  the  shallow  chan- 
nel at  ebb-tide  and  bring  up  the  scallop-shells; 
wash  off  the  mud  that  clings  to  them  and  see  how 
beautiful  each  one  is.  Why  are  they  every  one 
ribbed  and  fluted  as  if  by  a  sculptor's  hand ;  how 
are  they  fashioned  with  that  endless  variation  of 
lovely  colors,  as  if  a  painter  in  his  studio  had 
worked  out  some  fancy  on  each  one  separately  ? 
Or  take  your  magnifying  glass  and  through  it 
watch  a  spider  strengthening  his  web.  See  him, 
without  any  rule  to  measure  by,  tie  his  tiny  ropes 
at  equal  distances,  and  plan  the  cross-stays  of 
his  Webb  so  perfectly  it  can  resist  the  strain  of  the 
wind  which,  he  seems  to  know,  is  blowing  in  more 
freshly  from  the  sea.  Who  can  say  how  the  spider 
learns  to  do  his  beautiful  work  of  house-building, 
placing  his  lines  like  a  draughtsman.  Yet  we  can 
[  245  ] 


Cl^e  Dillon  €up 

all  admire  his  work  without  knowing  how  it  is 
done.  And  when,  from  these  wonders  going  on 
right  around  us  we  lift  up  our  eyes  to  Him  who 
made  the  world,  who  stretched  out  the  heavens, 
and  set  the  stars,  although  we  cannot  know  how 
He  is  the  Three  in  One,  we  can  rejoice  in  Him, 
worship  Him,  love  Him  as  the  Three  in  One, 
taking  the  thought  that  He  is  God  the  Father, 
and  then  the  thought  that  He  is  God  the  Son, 
and  then  the  thought  that  He  is  God  the  Holy 
Spirit,  and  rejoicing  in  each  thought  by  itself,  and 
feeling  that  each  thought  opens  to  our  view  one 
more  side  of  God's  all  glorious  nature. 

As  we  speak  together  for  a  few  moments  of 
God  the  Son,  let  us  say  again  in  our  hearts  what 
we  have  said  already  aloud,  in  our  creed :  *' And 
in  Jesus  Christ  His  only  Son,  our  Lord;  Who  was 
conceived  by  the  Holy  Ghost,  born  of  the  Virgin 
Mary,  suffered  under  Pontius  Pilate,  was  cruci- 
fied, dead,  and  buried ;  He  descended  into  hell ; 
the  third  day  He  arose  from  the  dead;  He  as- 
cended into  heaven,  and  sitteth  at  the  right  hand 
of  God  the  Father  Almighty;  from  thence  He 
shall  come  to  judge  the  quick  and  the  dead." 
Perhaps  those  words  of  the  creed,  about  the  Son 
of  God,  glorious  and  true  though  they  are,  may 
[  246  ] 


Cl^e  ^on  of  (BoD 

sound  to  some  dear  child  to-day  far  off  and  diffi- 
cult, and  not  having  much  in  them  that  brings 
the  Son  of  God  near  to  a  child's  life.  So  let  us 
take  some  other  words  about  the  Son  of  God  that 
are  even  better  than  the  words  of  the  creed,  and 
are  far  easier  for  a  child  to  understand.  They 
are  the  words  of  our  text:  **The  Son  of  God, 
Who  loved  me  and  gave  Himself  for  me." 

There  is  a  face  which  no  one  here  has  ever 
seen,  yet  which  very  many  of  us  who  are  grown 
up,  and  very  many  I  know  who  are  children,  love 
to  think  of  as  the  face  of  a  dear  friend.  You 
know  whose  face  I  mean.  Whose  is  that  face  that 
in  this  holy  and  still  hour  rises  up  before  our 
mind's  eye,  calm,  gentle,  thoughtful,  strong, 
noble,  true  ?  You  know  whose  is  that  face  that 
bears  upon  it  the  marks  of  sorrow  and  pain,  yet 
in  which  looks  out  a  marvelous  love  that  tri- 
umphs over  sorrow.  You  know  whose  is  that 
face  that  has  such  power  to  draw  us  toward  it 
from  anything  bad  or  mean,  so  that  when  we  are 
thinking  of  it  our  purpose  grows  noble,  and  our 
heart  grows  patient,  and  our  mind  grows  pure. 
Ah !  yes,  we  all  know  that  face  with  the  glorious 
light  in  it,  of  which  a  great  Apostle  once  wrote : 
"  The  light  of  the  knowledge  of  the  glory  of  God 
[  247  ] 


in  the  face  of  Jesus  Christ."  Let  the  face  of 
Jesus  Christ  rise  up  now  before  you,  my  child; 
look  at  Him,  think  of  Him;  realize  who  He  is, 
whence  He  came,  why  He  came  on  earth,  what  He 
did  on  earth,  why  He  did  it,  where  He  is  now. 
Look  long  and  earnestly  on  the  glory  of  God  in 
the  face  of  Jesus  Christ,  and  then  remember 
that  that  face  has  a  meaning  and  a  message,  not 
only  for  the  whole  world,  but  for  you  yourself; 
remember  that  the  face  of  Jesus  is  the  face  of 
your  own  friend,  and  say,  while  you  look  at  that 
face :  '*The  Son  of  God,  who  loved  me  and  gave 
Himself  for  me."  For  who  is  Jesus.?  Who  is 
this  about  whom  you  read  in  your  New  Testa- 
ment gospels,  that  was  born  on  earth,  and  grew 
up  from  boyhood  to  manhood,  and  went  about 
doing  good,  and  died,  and  rose  again  the  third 
day  ?  Who  is  this  ?  Once  He  asked :  "  Whom  do 
men  say  that  I  am.?"  And  the  answer  was; 
Men  have  all  sorts  of  ideas  about  who  you  are. 
Some  say  you  are  John  the  Baptist ;  some  say  you 
are  Elijah ;  others  that  you  are  Jeremiah.  But 
who,  said  He,  do  you  say  that  I  am  ?  And  Peter 
answered  and  said:  '*Thou  art  the  Christ,  the 
Son  of  the  living  God."  And  Christ  blessed  Peter 
for  daring  to  say  it.  And  as  we  study  this  Bible 
[  248  ]  * 


Cl^c  ^on  of  (BoD 

we  know  that  Peter  was  right,  and  that  this  face 
so  beautiful,  so  gentle,  so  patient,  so  holy,  so 
pure,  so  full  of  sympathy  and  earnestness  and  at 
times  so  terrible  when  it  spoke  out  against  sin 
and  wrong,  is  the  face  of  God  the  Son. 

But  why  did  God  the  Son  come  to  the  earth : 
so  that  men  could  see  Him  and  talk  to  Him,  and 
hear  Him  talk,  and  watch  Him  live  and  suffer  in 
the  body,  and  at  last  see  His  body  die  upon  the 
cross  ?  Why  do  you  think  Jesus,  the  Son  of  God, 
was  born  and  lived  among  us  ?  This  question 
is  answered  over  and  over  again  in  the  Bible 
dozens  of  times,  so  that  no  one  who  will  believe 
the  Bible  can  fail  to  know  why  the  Son  of  God 
came  to  the  earth.  In  one  place  it  says:  **God 
has  spoken  unto  us  by  His  Son."  In  another 
place:  "This  is  my  beloved  Son,  hear  ye  Him." 
In  another  place:  "The  Father  sent  the  Son  to 
be  the  Saviour  of  the  world."  In  another  place : 
"In  the  fulness  of  time  God  sent  forth  His  Son 
to  redeem"  the  world.  In  another  place  :  "God 
sending  His  Son  condemned  sin."  In  another 
place:  "He  spared  not  His  own  Son,  but  deliv- 
ered Him  up  for  us  all."  In  another  place :  "  God 
sent  not  His  Son  to  condemn  the  world,  but  that 
the  world  through  Him  might  be  saved."  And 
[  249  ] 


Ci^e  ^ilUt  Cup 

Jesus,  where  He  tells  us  why  He  came  to  earth, 
says  the  same  thing:  "I  came  to  do  the  will  of 
Him  that  sent  Me."  "He  that  hath  seen  Me  hath 
seen  the  Father."  '*I  and  my  Father  are  one." 
*'I  will  give  my  flesh  for  the  life  of  the  world." 
These  are  only  a  few  of  the  many  places  where  is 
answered  the  question :  "  Why  did  Jesus  come  .^" 
And  when  we  put  all  these  answers  together  and 
see  what  they  really  teach,  we  find  the  teaching 
very  clear.  Shall  I  tell  you  exactly  what  I  think 
it  is  ? 

I  think  the  teaching  of  the  Bible  about  that 
first  coming  to  earth  of  the  Son  of  God  is  this : 
God  the  Three  in  One,  the  glorious  maker  and 
sovereign  of  the  whole  universe,  loves  you  with  a 
love  so  great  that  only  God  could  know  how 
great  it  is.  A  poet  once  said:  "God  only  knows 
the  love  of  God."  I  believe  that.  His  love  for 
you  is  something  far  more  wonderful  for  depth 
and  strength  than  you  or  I  can  understand.  We 
can  no  more  measure  it  with  our  minds  than  we 
can  measure  the  ocean  with  our  hands.  When 
did  this  love  of  God  for  you  begin  .^  It  began 
before  you  were  born,  before  your  father  and 
mother  were  born,  before  any  one  was  born. 
Yes,  the  Bible  says  this  love  was  in  God's  heart 
[  250  ] 


€]^e  ^on  of  (0dD 

before  the  foundation  of  the  world.  And  God 
the  Father,  Who  knows  all  things,  knew  you  and 
thought  of  you  and  planned  for  you  before  the 
world  was  made.  I  say  He  planned  for  you.  You 
know,  perhaps,  how  a  father  plans  for  his  child 
when  that  child  is  only  a  baby  in  its  cradle.  A 
human  father  looks  down  on  his  little  child  lying 
in  the  cradle  and  plans  beautiful  plans  about 
what  he  would  wish  his  child  to  be  when  he  grows 
up,  what  sort  of  a  boy,  what  sort  of  a  man.  So 
God  the  Father  planned  for  you,  long  before  your 
life  began.  What  did  He  plan  ?  He  planned  that 
He  would  like  to  have  you  grow  up  holy,  true, 
and  good,  and  to  be  in  your  character,  in  your 
conduct,  in  your  influence  more  and  more  like 
Jesus  Christ.  This  was  God's  beautiful  plan  for 
you,  for  me,  for  us  all,  before  the  world  was 
made.  But  when  the  world  was  made  and  men 
lived  in  it,  and  God  rejoiced  over  what  He  had 
made,  there  came  a  change,  a  dark,  sad  change. 
You  know  that  you  have  a  will  that  can  do  this 
or  that,  that  can  say  **I  will"  or  ''I  will  not." 
Who  gave  you  that  will  ?  God  gave  it  to  you.  Is 
it  right  to  have  a  will.^  Yes,  it  is  right.  God 
would  not  have  given  you  a  will  if  it  was  not  right 
for  you  to  have  one.  But  a  will  can  be  used  in 
[251  ] 


m^t  ^iiut  Cup 

two  ways,  —  a  right  way  and  a  wrong  way.  And 
very  soon  after  man  began  to  live  in  the  world  he 
was  terribly  tempted  by  an  evil  being  to  use  his 
will  the  wrong  way,  and  he  followed  the  advice 
of  the  evil  being  and  did  not  follow  the  advice  of 
God,  and  this  was  sin,  and  sin  because  it  is  al- 
ways a  using  of  the  will  in  the  wrong  way ;  and  so 
a  thought,  a  word,  and  act  against  the  good  plan 
of  the  Father  for  us  makes  trouble,  and  trouble 
makes  sorrow.  When  the  Three  in  One  saw  that 
sin  was  here  in  the  once  holy  world,  there  was 
sorrow  mingled  with  the  love  in  the  heart  of  God. 
His  plan  for  you  and  me  was  being  interfered 
with  by  the  disobedience  of  those  for  whom  He 
was  planning.  And  while  He  loved  us  just  as 
much  as  before.  He  could  not  love  our  sin.  God 
could  not  say  sin  was  right.  And  he  could  not 
pretend  that  He  did  not  see  sin,  for  God  is  per- 
fectly true  and  perfectly  holy.  And  He  loved  you 
and  me  so  much  He  did  not  want  to  drive  us  away 
from  Him  and  to  give  up  His  plan  for  us  because 
we  were  doing  wrong.  But  yet  He  hated  sin;  He 
felt  that  He  must  show  in  some  way  to  all  the 
world  how  horrible  and  bad  sin  is,  and  how  much 
God  hates  it.  And  this  is  what  He  did.  God  the 
Son  came  Himself  to  earth  and  in  His  own  terri- 
[  252  ] 


€]^e  ^on  of  (Bdd 

ble  suffering  He  proved  and  showed  how  terrible 
sin  is  and  how  a  holy  God  must  set  His  face 
against  sin  forever  and  ever.  He  did  this  will- 
ingly, gladly,  because  He  loved  you.  He  died 
that  you  might  be  forgiven. 

This  is  the  story  of  love  that  centres  forever 
around  the  name  of  Jesus.  It  is  not  a  far-off 
story.  It  comes  close  to  your  life  and  to  mine,  and, 
if  we  understand  its  meaning,  the  most  natural 
thing  for  us  to  say  is  the  very  thing  St.  Paul  said 
when  he  began  to  understand  the  meaning  of  it : 
''The  Son  of  God,  who  loved  me  and  gave  Him- 
self for  me."  And  what  did  St.  Paul  do  when  he 
began  to  understand  that  the  Son  of  God  loved 
him  and  had  given  Himself  for  Him.^  Why  he 
simply  said :  To  this  loving  Son  of  God  I  want  to 
give  my  life.  I  want  to  put  my  life  in  His  hands 
and  let  Him  do  with  me  anything  He  pleases. 
And  as  I  speak  to  you  this  most  wonderful  of  all 
truths,  the  love  of  the  Son  of  God  for  you,  and 
the  self -giving  of  the  Son  of  God  for  you,  it  does 
seem  to  me  almost  as  if  He  were  standing  here 
before  you,  and  looking  down  into  your  eyes  and 
into  your  very  heart,  as  if  He  would  draw  your 
very  life  close  to  Himself  by  the  power  of  His 
mighty  love. 

[  253  ] 


Ci^e  ^iVon  Cup 

Long  years  ago  a  man  of  noble  birth  and  great 
wealth  went  into  one  of  the  splendid  picture  gal- 
leries of  Europe,  and  walking  through  the  rooms, 
he  found  himself  brought  to  a  standstill  in  front 
of  one  picture.  It  was  a  picture  of  the  Son  of  God 
suffering  on  earth.  Of  course  no  picture  could  be 
a  portrait  of  that  face  in  which  the  glory  of  God 
is  shining;  but  it  was  enough  to  suggest  all  that 
Christ  is,  all  that  Christ  has  done.  And  under  the 
picture  were  these  words :  "This  have  I  done  for 
thee;  what  hast  thou  done  for  Me?"  Oh!  you 
dear  young  lives,  look  upon  that  face  that  shines 
out  of  the  pages  of  this  gospel  of  the  love  of  God, 
the  face  of  Him  who  gave  Himself  for  you.  And 
as  you  look  ask  your  own  heart:  What  have  I 
done  for  Him.^  What  can  I  do  for  Him.?  To 
many  of  you  there  has  already  been  made  a  be- 
ginning in  the  service  of  the  Son  of  God.  Touched 
by  His  love,  and  melted  by  His  divine  sacrifice, 
you  have  already  taken  Him  openly  as  your 
Saviour.  And  to-day  I  would  have  you  ask  your- 
self :  Can  I  not  show  this  Son  of  God  much  more 
clearly  than  I  do,  how  deeply  and  tenderly  I 
value  Him,  and  His  work  for  me,  and  His  love 
for  me  ?  And  if  there  is  one  child  who  under- 
stands what  has  been  said  to-day  about  the  Son 
[  254  ] 


Ci^e  ^on  of  (0oti 

of  God,  who  acknowledges  all  that  God  is,  — 
the  Three  in  One,  the  One  in  Three, — who  be- 
lieves all  that  Christ  is  and  all  that  Christ  has 
done,  does  it  not  seem  to  you  that  you  must  con- 
secrate your  life  to  that  Son  of  God;  that  you 
must  confess  that  Son  of  God  to  be  yoUr  Saviour ; 
that  you  must  openly  and  joyfully  enroll  yourself 
as  one  of  Christ's  grateful  friends,  to  whom  the 
greatest  joy  on  earth  is  to  do  something  for  Him 
Who  has  done  everything  for  you.   Amen. 


Cfje  flol?  spirit 

"  (©Ob  toljo  oibetl)  5(^13^  i^olp  ;t)pirit  unto  pou  " 
1  Thessalonians  4  :  8,  R.  V. 

We  have  come  this  afternoon  to  the  third  and 
last  of  the  Trinity  sermons  for  children,  and  I 
take  up  with  peculiar  gladness  and  delight  the 
subject  which  comes  before  us,  the  Holy  Spirit. 

I  love  to  think  and  to  talk  about  the  Holy 
Spirit.  I  love  even  to  speak  the  name  —  the 
Holy  Spirit.  It  is  a  name  full  of  gentleness,  love, 
and  peace.  It  is  a  name  that  suggests  always 
to  my  mind  a  nature  beautiful,  generous,  wise, 
tender,  —  sheltering  and  strengthening  human 
hearts.  And  because  the  Holy  Spirit  is  one  of 
the  names  of  God,  I  gain,  in  this  name,  an  idea 
of  God  that  is  simply  precious  and  blessed.  God 
is  a  nature  beautiful,  generous,  wise,  tender, — 
sheltering  and  strengthening  human  hearts. 
And  when  we  think  of  God  as  the  Holy  Spirit, 
it  makes  us  feel  that  He  and  we  are  just  dear 
friends.  We  belong  to  one  another.  Our  lives 
blend:  He  in  us,  we  in  Him,  and  nothing  need 
ever  come  between  us  to  separate  us. 
[256  ] 


We  have  had  two  Trinity  sermons  before  this 
one.  The  first  was  about  God  the  Father,  the 
second  was  about  God  the  Son,  and  in  each  of 
these  sermons  I  said  that  what  we  are  seeking  in 
the  Trinity  sermons  is  to  find  out  as  much  as  we 
can  about  God,  so  that  we  can  think  of  Him  more 
intelligently  and  thus  love  Him  more  truly.  And 
as  the  Bible  tells  us  more  than  any  other  book 
tells  us  of  the  nature  of  God,  I  have  taken  you  to 
the  Bible.  And  as  we  find  that  the  Bible  tells  us 
that  God  is  Three  in  One,  the  Father,  the  Son, 
and  the  Holy  Spirit,  we  are  thinking  of  God  in 
that  way.  And  it  does  not  matter  if  we  cannot 
understand  all  about  the  Trinity ;  it  does  not  mat- 
ter if  we  cannot  explain  how  God  is  Three  in 
One.  We  can  just  take  the  Bible  thought  of  the 
Three  in  One  and  rejoice  in  it,  and  let  the  influ- 
ence of  it  fill  our  mind  and  our  heart.  Oh !  it  is 
so  good  for  us  to  think  about  God,  to  have  these 
grand,  magnificent  thoughts  about  Him  pouring 
into  our  minds  like  the  tide  from  the  mighty  sea. 

Do  you  remember  watching  the  tide  come  in 
from  the  sea  ?  I  live,  in  summer-time,  just  where 
I  can  watch  the  tide  come  in  from  the  sea  day  by 
day.  There  is  a  kind  of  an  inlet,  formed  at  a 
point  in  the  coast  where  the  sea  has  broken  an 
[257  ] 


Cl^e  filter  Cup 

entrance  and  cut  a  channel  three  or  four  miles 
long  into  the  land.  In  that  channel  there  are 
sand-bars,  and  grass  flats,  and  acres  of  tangled 
seaweed.  When  the  tide  goes  out  the  surface  of 
bright  water  grows  narrower  and  narrower  till  it 
is  a  winding  streak  of  silver,  and  the  grass  flats 
grow  large  and  dry,  and  the  sand-bars  stick  out, 
and  the  seaweed  tangle  looks  like  a  swamp  — 
and  your  boat  lies  useless  on  the  muddy  bottom. 
And  then  the  tide  turns,  and  the  flood  begins  to 
set  landward,  and  a  clear,  whirling  current  of 
pure,  sparkling  water  comes  from  the  grand 
ocean  depth  outside,  pours  through  the  breach  in 
the  coast  and  sweeps  up  the  inlet.  Soon  all  is 
changed.  The  grass  flats  hide  their  black  bogs 
under  bright  blue-green  water  out  of  which  stand 
tiny  forests  of  waving  sedge ;  the  yellow  sand-bars 
where  the  sea  gulls  were  feeding  shrink  and 
shrink  till  the  tide  like  a  curtain  rolls  over  them 
its  soft  and  sunny  coverlet ;  the  tangled  seaweeds 
straighten  out  and  wave  their  plumes  in  the  rip  of 
the  current;  the  boat  rights  itself,  dances  on  the 
wavelets,  and  strains  at  its  painter  as  if  it  too  were 
eager  to  be  off  and  explore  the  broad  ocean-river 
that  has  filled  the  inlet  to  its  very  brim. 

So  is  the  mind  of  a  child,  so  is  the  mind  of  a 
[  258  ] 


Cl^e  i^olr  Spirit 

man  when  the  strong  full  thoughts  of  God  are 
flowing  from  the  eternal  ocean  of  His  life  into  the 
narrower,  landlocked  channel  of  our  life.  If  we 
stop  letting  into  our  minds  these  magnificent 
fresh  thoughts  of  God,  the  old  thoughts  we  once 
had  will  ebb  away  from  us  like  the  tide  running 
out  of  the  inlet ;  the  thoughts  that  we  have  about 
God  will  grow  narrower  and  shallower,  and  all 
things  in  our  life  that  are  barren  and  tangled 
and  muddy,  and  of  no  value,  will  stand  out  more 
and  more  plainly,  and  by  and  by  our  mind,  not 
being  filled  up  with  new  thoughts  of  God,  will 
grow  foul  and  unwholesome  and  bad;  just  as 
the  river-bottom  would  be  if  the  tide  going  out, 
stayed  out,  and  did  not  return.  But  when,  day  by 
day,  new  thoughts  about  God,  rich,  pure,  spark- 
ling, crystal-clear  thoughts  about  God,  are  rush- 
ing and  pouring  from  the  ocean  of  His  life  into 
the  inlet  of  ours,  lo  all  the  barrenness  will  disap- 
pear, all  the  muddiness  will  be  forgotten,  all  the 
tangle  will  be  smoothed  out,  and  our  mind  and 
our  heart  will  be  full,  full  to  the  very  brim  with 
noble,  sparkling,  infiniteness  of  thought,  and  life 
will  spread  out  before  us  like  a  broad  river,  shim- 
mering in  sunlight  and  touched  by  untainted 
breezes  from  the  Unbounded  Sea. 
[  259  ] 


Therefore  are  we  having  these  Trinity  ser- 
mons, —  not  to  puzzle  your  brains  with  hard 
doctrines,  but  to  flood  your  hearts  and  minds 
brimful  of  bright  thoughts  concerning  God.  How 
the  tide  of  thought  came  in  on  that  afternoon, 
when  we  talked  together  about  God  as  our 
Father  which  is  in  Heaven. 

Do  you  remember  with  what  a  rush  the  beau- 
tiful, free  tide  came  in  as  we  began  to  think  of 
what  God  the  Father  does  for  us ;  how  God  the 
Father  gives  every  good  and  perfect  gift;  how 
God  the  Father  knows  and  understands  what 
things  we  have  need  of  before  we  ask  Him ;  how 
God  the  Father  sees  in  secret  all  our  thoughts  and 
motives,  so  that  if  they  are  but  pure  and  right 
we  need  not  fear  that  He  will  misunderstand  us, 
no  matter  how  poorly  we  make  ourselves  under- 
stood by  the  world;  and  how  God  the  Father 
seeketh  such  to  worship  Him  who  worship  Him 
in  spirit  and  in  truth  ?  And  then  how  brimful  the 
tide  became  when  we  thought  what  we  may  do 
for  God  our  Father ;  how  we  can  show  our  appre- 
ciation of  Him  by  obedience,  by  being  in  subjec- 
tion to  the  Father  of  our  spirits ;  how  we  can  pray 
to  our  Father  Who  seeth  in  secret,  and  how  we 
can  give  thanks  unto  the  Father,  and  how  we  can 
[  260  ] 


know  the  Father  better  by  studying  and  accept- 
ing the  revelations  of  Him  which  Christ  makes. 
Who  says,  **He  that  hath  seen  Me  hath  seen  the 
Father"  ?  Yes !  that  was  a  wonderfully  high  tide 
we  had  that  afternoon. 

And  then,  do  you  remember  the  high  tide  we 
had  on  that  afternoon  when  we  talked  about  the 
Son  of  God  who  loved  us  and  gave  Himself  for 
us  ?  How  the  ocean  poured  into  the  inlet  that 
afternoon ;  how  full  were  our  minds  that  day,  of 
bright  thoughts  of  God  ?  We  thought  about  the 
face  of  Jesus  Christ  in  which  shines  the  glory  of 
God,  —  "that  face  that  leaves  upon  it  the  marks 
of  sorrow  and  pain,  yet  in  which  looks  out  a  mar- 
velous love  that  triumphs  over  sorrow ;  that  face 
that  has  such  power  to  draw  us  toward  it  from 
anything  bad  or  mean,  so  that  when  we  are 
thinking  of  it  our  purpose  grows  noble  and  our 
heart  grows  patient  and  our  *'  mind  grows  pure." 
We  thought  of  that  face  as  the  face  of  God  the 
Son.  We  asked.  Why  did  God  the  Son  come  to 
earth?  And  that  opened  up  the  whole  great 
story  of  love,  —  the  eternal  love  of  the  Father, 
Who  planned  for  us  before  the  foundation  of  the 
world  that  we  should  be  like  Christ ;  the  eternal 
love  of  the  Son,  Who  when  sin  had  entered  into 
[261  ] 


Cl^e  ^iVott  Cup 

our  life  through  our  wrong  use  of  will  power  still 
loved  us  and  gave  Himself  for  us.  And  oh !  how 
the  tide  of  thought  swelled  in  our  hearts  when, 
thinking  of  the  fair,  sweet  love  of  Jesus  we  asked : 
If  He  has  given  Himself  for  us,  what  can  we  do 
for  Him  ?  Can  we  not  give  ourselves  for  Him  and 
to  Him  ? 

For  this  afternoon  the  ocean  is  indeed  pouring 
its  fullness  into  the  inlet ;  thoughts  of  God  flow 
full  and  free  from  His  life  into  ours.  All  the 
thought  of  God  the  Father;  all  the  thought  of 
God  the  Son;  and  now  most  rich,  most  full,  most 
wonderful  of  all,  the  thought  of  God  the  Holy 
Spirit.  It  is  a  high  tide;  let  it  enter  the  inlet  of 
your  life.  What  shall  I  say  to  you,  children  and 
youth,  of  God  as  the  Holy  Spirit ;  what  shall  I 
say  that  will  make  the  thought  real  to  your  young 
life,  a  thought  that  shall  help  you  to  live  ?  I  can- 
not, of  course,  in  this  short  sermon  repeat  all  that 
the  Bible  tells  us  about  God  the  Holy  Spirit,  for 
the  Bible  tells  us  much  that  explains  many  differ- 
ent works  done  by  God  as  the  Holy  Spirit,  and  it 
would  take  hours  and  days,  perhaps,  to  explain 
all  that  the  Bible  tells  on  this  subject,  to  say  no- 
thing of  all  that  man  has  found  out  in  other  ways 
about  God  as  the  Holy  Spirit.  I  want  to  give  you 
[  262  ] 


just  one  thought  about  God  as  the  Holy  Spirit 
that  shall  help  you  now  and  that  shall  make 
the  very  name  of  the  Holy  Spirit  as  dear  to  you 
as  it  must  be  to  every  one  who  understands  just 
what  God  as  the  Holy  Spirit  desires  to  do  for  our 
lives. 

The  words  which  we  chose  as  the  text  were 
these:  "God  giveth  His  Holy  Spirit  unto  you." 
Now  when  we  keep  in  mind  the  great  Three  in 
One  thought,  the  Trinity  thought,  which  tells  us 
that  God  is  the  Father,  and  God  is  the  Son,  and 
God  is  the  Holy  Spirit,  we  see  that  when  our  text 
says,  **God  giveth  His  Holy  Spirit  unto  you,"  it 
means,  "  God  gives  Himself  unto  you."  How  can 
God  give  Himself  unto  you  ?  In  the  same  way 
that  the  ocean  gives  itself  unto  the  inlet,  to  every 
inlet  opening  along  its  coast.  When  the  tide  was 
out  the  inlet  was  empty  and  the  ocean  was  full ; 
when  the  tide  came  in  the  ocean  was  just  as  full 
as  it  was  before  and  the  inlet  was  full,  too.  The 
ocean  poured  its  beautiful  tide  into  the  inlet  till 
the  inlet  became  a  broad,  sparkling  river ;  and  not 
only  the  one  inlet  that  I  saw,  but  every  inlet  along 
the  coast  was  full,  except  where  something  had 
choked  up  the  mouth  of  the  inlet  so  the  tide  could 
not  get  it.  There  was  such  a  place  some  miles 
[  263  ] 


Ci^e  ^imt  Cup 

from  where  I  lived:  not  only  the  open  channel 
where  the  tide  poured  in  every  day,  but  a  few 
miles  away  there  was  a  place  also  called  "the 
inlet,"  because  in  former  times  there  used  to  be 
an  opening  there  where  the  sea  came  in ;  but  that 
opening  had  become  choked  with  sand,  the  sea 
came  in  no  longer,  and  what  water  there  was, 
was  foul,  muddy,  and  unwholesome. 

"The  Holy  Spirit  giveth  Himself  unto  you.'* 
Your  life  is  like  the  inlet.  God  is  like  the  ocean. 
The  Holy  Spirit  is  like  the  tide  of  the  ocean  seek- 
ing to  pour  its  fullness  and  its  sparkling  fresh- 
ness into  the  inlet  of  your  life.  The  Holy  Spirit  is 
God  seeking  to  pour  Himself  into  your  life,  to 
fill  you  with  His  fullness.  If  your  life  is  open 
toward  Him,  just  as  the  mouth  of  the  inlet  chan- 
nel is  open  toward  the  sea.  He  will  come  in  and 
fill  you  with  Himself,  as  the  ocean  comes  in  at  the 
open  mouths  of  the  inlet  channel  and  fills  it  with 
its  bright  waters.  If  your  life  is  closed  toward 
Him,  just  as  that  old  inlet  channel  had  become 
choked  up  with  sand.  He  cannot  get  in  to  you  to 
fill  you  with  His  power,  any  more  than  the  ocean 
could  get  in  to  the  inlet  channel  when  the  mouth 
of  it  was  choked  with  sand.  The  ocean  was  a 
great  deal  larger  than  that  inlet  channel ;  and  the 
[  264  ] 


little  bar  of  sand  across  the  mouth  seemed  a  tinv 
thing  to  keep  out  the  great,  strong  ocean,  but 
somehow  or  other  it  was  able  to  keep  it  out  and 
it  did;  and  I  used  to  watch  the  magnificent 
foaming  billows  of  the  ocean  come  and  pound  at 
that  little  sand-bar  lying  across  the  mouth  of  the 
old  inlet  as  if  they  were  saying,  *'Let  us  in,  let  us 
in,  to  fill  and  to  freshen  the  channel  with  our 
tide."  But  the  little  sand-bar  never  let  the  tide 
come  in ;  it  stood  in  the  way ;  it  blocked  the  chan- 
nel ;  it  kept  what  water  there  was  inside  shallow 
and  stagnant  and  foul. 

God  is  a  great  deal  larger  and  stronger  than 
your  life,  and  it  seems  strange  to  think  that  any- 
thing so  small  as  a  habit  of  your  thought  or  a 
habit  of  your  conduct  could  lie  across  the  en- 
trance of  your  life,  and  keep  that  great  tide  of 
God's  life  from  coming  into  you  and  filling  you 
with  its  fullness.  Yet  that  is  just  the  truth,  that 
is  just  what  does  take  place.  You  can  keep  the 
Holy  Spirit  out  when  He  comes  as  He  comes  to- 
day, the  tide  of  the  infinite  ocean  of  the  life  of 
God,  to  pour  Himself,  in  freshness  and  fullness 
and  power  and  beauty  and  purity  and  strength 
into  your  life.  You  can  keep  the  tide  out,  or  you 
can  let  the  tide  come  in.  Which  will  you  do  ? 
[  265  ] 


God  the  Holy  Spirit  is  like  the  tide  in  many 
ways.  He  is  like  the  tide  in  that  He  fills  some 
lives  gradually  and  silently,  and  other  lives  sud- 
denly and  as  with  the  rush  of  many  waters.  In 
some  of  the  inlets  opening  to  the  sea  the  tide 
enters  so  softly  and  gradually  you  can  hardly  see 
it  come;  you  can  only  notice  that  the  little  hol- 
lows in  the  sand  are  filling  up  with  water  and  the 
stones  are  slowly  slipping  out  of  sight.  So  He 
enters  some  lives  and  begins  to  pour  His  fullness 
into  them.  They  hardly  know  whence  or  how, 
but  little  by  little  they  know  that  new  and  better 
thoughts  are  rising  in  them,  and  new  and  deeper 
longings  to  please  Jesus  are  covering  the  old 
stony  indifference.  Thus  is  God  giving  Himself 
to  you.  Oh !  if  to  one  of  you  this  silent  tide  of  the 
Holy  Spirit  is  entering,  let  it  come ;  open  your  life 
wide  to  receive  it;  do  not  let  anything  prevent  it 
from  coming  in.  Let  the  Holy  Spirit  fill  you  with 
Himself. 

But  sometimes  the  tide  comes  suddenly,  with 
the  rushing  sound  of  many  waters.  So  have  I 
seen  it  come  up  the  Bay  of  Fundy  into  the  inlet  of 
the  St.  John's  River.  It  came  like  a  pure  white 
wave,  up  from  the  far  ocean ;  it  came  with  a  power 
naught  could  withstand ;  it  came  with  the  rush  of 
[  266  ] 


a  mighty  flood,  a  tidal  wave ;  it  turned  the  current 
of  the  inlet  back  upon  itself,  and  poured  a  new 
current  into  it.  So  sometimes  the  Spirit  of  God 
comes  to  lives  as  with  a  sudden  wave  of  mighty 
power,  changing  the  very  current  of  life  sud- 
denly, filling  the  soul  in  an  instant,  and  bringing 
to  pass  a  swift  change.  If  He  should  so  come  to 
you,  do  not  be  afraid,  do  not  doubt,  do  not  re- 
sist. Let  Him  enter.  Let  Him,  even  while  I  speak, 
pour  into  you,  fill  you  with  sudden  power,  change 
the  current  of  thought  and  conduct,  and  give  to 
your  life  a  wholly  new  direction.  He  can  do  it  if 
you  will  let  Him.  For  His  is  no  human  influence 
lasting  but  for  an  hour.  This  is  God,  giving  Him- 
self unto  you. 

And  the  Holy  Spirit  is  like  the  tide  in  that  He 
makes  all  things  new.  An  inlet  from  which  the 
tide  had  ebbed  would  become  a  foul  and  danger- 
ous place  unless  the  tide  came  in  with  its  mighty 
flood  of  purifying  water  to  make  everything 
fresh  and  bright  and  wholesome.  And  when 
God  gives  Himself  to  us,  it  is  the  ocean  rushing  in 
to  cleanse  and  renew  the  inlet.  Our  life  without 
the  flood  of  God's  life  pouring  in  grows  stale 
and  sinful  and  unwholesome;  we  feed  on  bad 
thoughts,  all  the  worst  in  us  lies  exposed  and  re- 
[  267  ] 


veals  its  uncleanness  and  defilement.  We  must 
have  the  Holy  Spirit  to  make  us  clean,  to  baptize 
us  with  holiness  and  the  love  of  God,  to  wash 
away  out  of  sight  the  old  landmarks  of  impurity 
and  wrong,  and  to  spread  over  all  our  life,  like 
a  broad  and  shining  river,  that  heavenly  grace 
which  is  His,  and  His  alone,  to  give. 

And  once  more,  the  Holy  Spirit  is  like  the  tide 
in  that  power  for  usefulness  comes  when  He 
comes.  See  the  inlet  at  dead  low  tide,  three  fourths 
of  it  a  muddy  waste  of  seaweed  and  sand.  The 
boats  are  useless  —  w^hat  can  they  do  ?  They 
have  nothing  to  float  them ;  they  cannot  go ;  they 
lie  tipped  up  on  the  bottom  like  wrecks.  But  here 
comes  the  glorious  tide  —  the  fullness  of  the  ocean 
depth:  it  enters,  it  fills,  and  the  sandy  inlet  is 
changed  to  a  shining  river  whereon  the  ships  and 
boats  pass  back  and  forth  on  their  errands  of  joy 
and  usefulness.  So  it  is  with  our  life  when  the 
Holy  Spirit  fills  us.  He  brings  us  power.  He  brings 
us  something  to  work  with,  He  brings  us  an  ele- 
ment by  which  we  are  made  useful.  Our  powers 
no  longer  lie  idle  and  useless  like  boats  aground 
on  a  muddy  bottom ;  we  are  filled  with  the  grace 
of  God,  and  every  power  lifted  and  righted  by 
that  flood  of  incoming  grace  is  like  a  boat  riding 
[  268  ] 


on  the  full  tide,  ready  to  go,  at  a  moment's  no- 
tice, wherever  the  Master  sends  it. 

I  know  that  you  can  all  understand  this ;  can 
all  grasp  what  God  means  when  He  says  He  will 
give  Himself  unto  us.  We  can  all  understand  that 
He  would  fill  our  life  with  Himself,  as  the  ocean 
fills  the  inlet  with  itself. 

But  oh !  is  there  one  of  you  who  is  not  like  the 
inlet  that  opened  to  the  sea,  and  into  which  the 
tide  might  freely  enter,  but  who  is  like  that  other 
inlet  of  which  I  spoke,  across  whose  mouth  a 
sand-bar  had  slowly  formed,  so  that  the  tide  could 
not  get  in  to  freshen  the  stagnant  muddy  water 
that  was  imprisoned  there.  Is  there  one  of  you 
across  whose  life  something  has  formed  like  the 
sand-bar,  which  is  keeping  out  the  power  of  the 
Holy  Spirit  ?  How  many  things  may  form  a  bar 
across  our  life  to  keep  out  the  Holy  Spirit !  Per- 
haps there  was  a  time  in  the  months  and  years 
gone  by  when  the  Holy  Spirit  was  coming  in  to 
you  like  the  tide,  and  something  made  you  stop 
and  check  the  tide,  and  say:  "No!  I  will  not  let 
Him  come  now."  And  the  memory  of  that 
checking  of  the  Holy  Spirit  then  has  been  like  a 
bar  across  your  life  to  keep  Him  out.  Break  that 
bar  to-day  —  He  will  help  you  to  break  it.  Let 
[  269  ] 


€]^e  filter  €np 

Him  come  but  a  little  way,  and  His  mighty  power 
will  sweep  over  the  bar  and  scatter  it  forever. 
Perhaps  there  is  some  habit  that  more  or  less 
slowly,  more  or  less  secretly,  has  been  forming 
itself  like  a  bar  across  your  life,  to  keep  out  the 
Holy  Spirit,  and  the  longer  you  leave  that  habit 
to  take  care  of  itself  the  stronger  it  becomes; 
the  sand-bar  between  the  inlet  of  your  life  and 
the  ocean  of  God's  life  grows  firmer  and  wider. 
Something  must  be  done,  and  done  now,  to  break 
the  bar  and  let  God  in,  to  give  Himself  to  you.  If 
it  is  your  will  to  break  that  bar,  no  matter  how 
strong  and  firm  the  bar  is,  the  thing  can  be  done. 
The  Holy  Spirit  is  God.  Nothing  can  resist  Him 
except  your  will,  and  if  your  will  no  longer  resists 
Him,  but  invites  Him,  He  will  break  the  bar  of 
habit.  He  will  pour  into  your  life  the  fresh  tide  of 
His  grace.  He  will  fill  you  with  Himself ;  the  ocean 
and  the  inlet  shall  be  one ;  you  shall  be  a  partaker 
of  the  life  of  God,  filled  with  a  tide  of  power  that 
need  never  ebb  away.   Amen. 


"  45nt»arb  " 
Exodus  40 :  36 

I  HAVE  chosen  for  to-day  a  text  of  one  word, 
but  that  one  word  is  like  a  window  up  in  a  high 
tower ;  from  that  one  window  you  can  see  far  and 
wide.  One  word  is  as  much  as  we  want,  if  it  says 
enough  and  shows  enough  to  us.  This  word  will 
say  enough  and  will  show  enough.  It  will  say  to 
young  hearts  something  worth  their  hearing;  it 
will  show  to  young  minds  something  worth  their 
thinking. 

I  am  not  forgetting,  as  I  say  this,  that  some- 
times '*  Onward"  speaks  to  us  of  things  that  are 
sad  and  bad  as  well  as  of  things  that  are  bright 
and  good.  "Onward"  is  the  word  that  shows 
us  war,  terrible  war,  and  the  pressing  of  soldiers 
toward  each  other,  not  to  meet  as  brothers  and  do 
each  other  good,  but  to  shoot  and  stab  each  other 
with  rifles  and  bayonets.  Horrible  war!  How 
God  must  hate  it  and  grieve  over  it  in  this  age 
when  Christ  has  brought  love  and  peace  to  light, 
to  see  men  all  over  the  world  rushing  upon  each 
other  like  wild  beasts  or  getting  ready  to  do  so. 
[  271  ] 


Think  of  that  horrid  "onward"  in  Abyssinia, 
when  the  Italian  army  pressed  on  into  a  land 
belonging  to  others,  pressed  their  way  up  be- 
tween two  hills  till  they  were  packed  in  there 
like  sheep  in  a  pen,  and  then  the  Shoan  soldiers, 
fighting  for  their  own  land,  swept  down  on  the 
Italians  and  shot  them  and  stabbed  them  and 
rolled  rocks  on  them  till  thousands  of  them  lay 
dead  and  crushed  upon  the  ground.  What  a 
dreadful  "onward"  that  was!  Oh!  when  will 
Christian  nations  learn  the  wickedness  of  such 
wars  and  the  duty  of  seeking  other  means  than 
war  to  settle  their  disputes. 

So,  too,  "onward"  is  the  word  that  shows  us 
sickness  running  its  course  in  a  child  or  a  man. 
I  have  often  heard  it  said,  "Our  dear  one  has 
typhoid  fever,  or  measles,  or  scarlet  fever,  and 
the  doctor  says  we  cannot  expect  a  change  for  the 
better  for  so  many  days.  The  disease  must  just 
run  its  course  onward  till  it  comes  to  the  turning 
point."  I  cannot  tell  you  what  a  dreary  "on- 
ward" that  always  is  to  me.  I  feel  so  sorry  for 
any  family  starting  in  for  those  long  hard  days 
or  weeks  of  anxiety,  and  when  I  see  anybody  in 
whom  a  sickness  is  going  "onward,"  I  feel  more 
tender  sympathy  than  I  have  words  to  express. 
[  272  ] 


Then  there  is  another  "onward"  that  is  sad 
and  bad.  It  is  the  ** onward"  of  a  wrong  habit. 
Habits  go  onward.  When  they  begin  to  form  they 
usually  keep  on  forming ;  they  grow,  they  go  on- 
ward. They  are  like  the  green  mossy  grass  that 
grows  on  the  bottom  of  a  boat  which  is  anchored 
for  a  long  time  in  the  tide :  first  there  is  only  a  little 
stain  of  green  on  the  boat,  then  a  short  growth  of 
slimy  moss,  then  a  long,  heavy  fringe  that  drags 
in  the  water  and  spoils  the  boat's  speed.  Habits 
of  wrong  are  more  and  more  a  stain,  a  false 
growth,  a  heavy  drag  on  a  life,  and  unless  you  let 
God's  cleansing  touch  sweep  them  away,  they 
will  in  time  make  your  life  almost  useless.  Wrong 
habits  drag  on  our  lives  more  and  more  with  a 
weight  that  ever  goes  onward,  getting  heavier; 
and  with  them  hanging  to  us  we  are  no  more  fit 
to  fulfill  the  purposes  for  which  God  gave  us  our 
life  than  a  boat  fouled  with  long,  clinging  tufts 
of  slimy  grass  is  fit  for  speed. 

But  what  I  have  now  said  about  war  and  sick- 
ness and  sin  is  quite  enough  to  show  you  how 
in  this  world  evil  goes  onward  as  well  as  good. 
Remember  this,  dear  child:  evil  goes  onward  in 
this  world  as  well  as  good.  May  God  protect 
your  precious  life  as  with  the  shadow  of  His  own 
[  273  ] 


wing,  that  as  you  go  onward  in  the  world  with 
all  else  you  may  not  be  overcome  of  evil,  but  may 
overcome  evil  with  good. 

I  am  not  going  to  speak  of  these  dark  and  sad 
things  any  more  to-day,  but  only  of  that  which 
is  winsome  and  gladdening  and  bright.  To  one 
who  is  young  like  you,  "onward"  should  be  one 
of  the  grandest  of  all  words.  It  should  go  before 
you  day  by  day  as  in  the  days  of  old,  when  Israel 
was  journeying  through  the  wilderness,  the  shin- 
ing cloud  that  veiled  God's  presence  went  before 
them,  kept  up  their  courage,  and  showed  them 
the  way. 

Our  text,  "Onward,"  to-day  is  taken  from  the 
story  of  those  days  of  old.  You  remember  it,  I 
am  sure,  —  Israel,  the  dearly  beloved  nation  of 
God,  for  whom  He  had  prepared  the  Holy  Land 
of  promise,  and  the  call  that  came  to  Israel  in 
Egypt  to  break  from  slavery  and  be  led  forth 
to  that  far-off  land  of  liberty.  You  remember 
all  the  story  of  that  leading,  by  which  they  found 
the  way  through  an  unknown  desert,  and  were 
brought  at  length,  not  without  many  wanderings, 
to  their  great  inheritance.  Who  that  ever  learned 
it  can  forget  the  story  of  that  leading,  by  the 
pillar  of  cloud  by  day  and  the  pillar  of  fire  by 
[  274  ] 


night,  "O'er  moor  and  fen,  o'er  crag  and  tor- 
rent." That  pillar  of  cloud,  resting  over  the 
tabernacle  whenever  they  halted  to  show  them 
that  God's  power  was  with  them  and  God's  wis- 
dom was  directing  them ;  that  pillar  of  cloud  led 
them  onward  from  point  to  point.  It  was  the 
silent  call  of  God  to  them  day  by  day ;  it  brought 
them  into  new  scenes,  it  opened  to  them  a  new 
world.  "  When  the  cloud  was  taken  up  from  over 
the  tabernacle,  the  children  of  Israel  went  on- 
ward in  all  their  journeys." 

If  some  tribesmen  of  the  desert,  in  those  days 
of  old,  came  to  the  edge  of  a  mountain,  and 
looking  down  into  the  valley  beneath,  suddenly 
saw  the  host  of  Israel  winding  along,  with  the 
pillar  of  cloud  moving  steadily  and  silently  in 
advance  of  them,  what  an  astonishing  sight  it 
must  have  been.  How  those  mountaineer  tribes- 
men must  have  stood  rooted  to  the  spot,  forget- 
ting all  else  but  the  magnificent  sight  that  burst 
upon  them,  that  great  army,  thousands  upon 
thousands  of  men,  with  the  long  trains  of  women 
and  children  winding  in  slow  procession  through 
the  desert,  that  solemn  cloud,  unlike  all  other 
clouds,  floating  at  the  head  of  the  procession,  like 
some  strange  banner  without  a  standard-bearer, 
[  275  ] 


Cl^e  filter  €np 

and  moved,  not  by  the  fitful  wind  that  swept 
other  clouds  about  the  sky,  but  propelled  by 
some  resistless,  purposeful  force  within  itself. 
Ah!  it  must  have  been  a  marvelous  sight  that 
met  the  eyes  of  the  mountaineer  tribesmen, 
standing  astonished  on  the  mountain's  brow,  and 
sometimes  I  wish  I  could  have  stood  there,  too, 
and  have  seen  it  all. 

But  standing  here  in  this  pulpit  to-day,  and 
looking  around  about  upon  you  all,  I  see  a  sight 
which  I  would  not  give  up  for  the  privilege  of 
seeing  the  host  of  Israel  and  the  pillar  of  cloud. 
I  see  you,  each  one  of  you,  each  boy,  each  girl, 
each  youthful  face,  a  life  by  itself,  making  that 
grandest  of  all  journeys,  a  journey  through  the 
world.  Those  who  have  traveled  far  tell  us  the 
greatest  and  most  interesting  journey  one  can 
take  is  the  journey  around  the  world,  going 
westward  to  California,  and  on  to  the  Hawaiian 
Islands,  and  still  on  to  Japan  and  China  and 
India,  and  home  by  Europe  and  the  Atlantic. 
It  is  a  noble  journey,  the  journey  around  the 
world.  But  I  think  there  is  a  greater  journey 
yet,  and  every  one  of  you  has  already  set  out 
upon  it,  —  not  the  journey  around  the  world,  but 
the  journey  through  the  world.  You  know  what  I 
[  276  ] 


mean :  the  journey,  the  glorious,  eventful  journey 
of  life. 

It  is  a  great  privilege  and  a  great  education  to 
travel ;  but  it  is  a  greater  privilege  and  a  greater 
education  to  live  than  to  travel ;  and  that  privilege, 
that  education,  is  yours  already,  if  you  only  know 
how  to  use  it.  Doubtless  there  are  people  who 
travel  with  so  little  intelligence,  so  little  wish  to 
learn  from  what  they  see,  that  their  opportunities 
bring  nothing  of  value  to  them.  They  come  back 
from  travels  as  narrow,  as  ignorant,  as  full  of 
small  ideas  as  when  they  started ;  and  doubtless, 
too,  you  can  take  this  greater  journey  of  life  with 
no  idea  of  what  it  means,  and  no  special  wish  to 
find  out  what  it  means,  and  so  you  would  come 
to]  the  end  of  the  journey  of  life  without  ever 
appreciating  or  enjoying  intelligently  the  great 
thing  which  has  been  yours.  Happy  would  I  be, 
happy  with  a  happiness  that  I  think  would  stay 
with  me  forever,  if  I  could  certainly  know  that  by 
reason  of  these  words  I  am  now  speaking  there 
had  come  into  one  youthful  heart  a  really  grander 
sense  of  the  value  and  meaning  of  life,  a  really 
clearer  view  of  what  it  means  to  be  born  a  living 
soul  into  this  world  and  to  start  on  the  journey 
of  life  knowing  that  God  goes  before  you  every 
[  277  ] 


step  of  the  way,  saying  Onward  —  onward  — 
onward. 

What  do  I  mean  when  I  say  that  God  is  going 
before  you,  saying  Onward  —  onward  —  on- 
ward ?  I  can  very  readily  tell  you  what  I  mean. 
I  mean  several  different  things,  and  they  are  all 
things  easy  for  a  child  to  understand;  not  be- 
cause they  are  small  things,  for  they  are  great 
things ;  but  a  child  can  understand  great  things 
just  as  well  as  small  things,  if  those  great  things 
are  but  spoken  in  clear  words. 

God  says  Onward,  onward,  to  you,  in  many 
different  ways.  Hear  now,  of  some  of  those  ways. 
God  says  Onward  to  you  through  His  great  gift 
of  time.  Think  about  time,  hear  time  say  "  On- 
ward" to  you.  Now  it  is  sunset  hour,  a  little 
while  ago  it  was  noon,  and  just  before  that  it  was 
morning ;  soon  it  will  be  night,  and  this  day  will 
be  gone  forever  and  ever  and  ever.  What  does 
this  mean.?  Now  it  is  Sunday,  and  to-morrow 
will  be  Monday  and  then  Tuesday  and  Wednes- 
day. What  does  this  mean?  Now  it  is  March; 
yet  this  week  will  also  come  April,  and  May  in- a 
few  weeks  after.  What  does  this  mean  ?  Now  it 
is  spring ;  yet  we  shall  feel  the  summer  soon,  and 
then  the  woods  will  grow  golden  and  scarlet  unto 
[  278  ] 


the  autumn.  What  does  this  mean  ?  This  means 
Onward.  Time  is  not  our  making,  but  God's 
making.  We  make  the  clocks  that  tell  the  time, 
but  God  makes  the  time  for  the  clocks  to  tell. 
And  time  says  ''Onward." 

God  says  "Onward"  to  you  through  His  great 
law  of  growth.  The  silent  growth  I  see  in  you 
says  to  me  "Onward"  in  a  way  that  makes  it 
hard  for  me  to  speak  to  you  for  the  thoughts  that 
spring  and  crowd  back  words.  Suppose  those 
mountaineer  tribesmen  had  stood  on  a  cliff 
watching  Israel's  army  go  onward  through  the 
desert.  It  would  simply  have  been  looking  at  a 
procession  of  strangers.  They  might  have  been 
interested  in  the  colors  or  astonished  at  the  num- 
bers; they  would  know  nothing  of  the  persons 
themselves.  But  as  I  look  at  you  it  is  with  eyes 
of  memory  as  well  as  eyes  of  vision.  Did  you  ever 
see  a  double  rainbow  ?  that  is,  one  bright  rain- 
bow painted  clear  and  strong  upon  the  cloud,  and 
back  of  it  another  rainbow,  fainter  and  more 
far  away,  a  dimly  beautiful  reflection  of  the  first  ? 
So  I,  looking  on  you,  see  in  each  of  you  two 
selves,  —  the  self  of  to-day  as  you  are  now,  and 
back  of  that  the  far-off  picture  of  the  self  you 
were. 

[  279  ] 


In  the  change  through  growth  I  hear  God's 
voice  say  **  Onward."  Yes,  His  voice.  No  human 
voice,  for  growth  is  not  our  work.  We  may  help  it 
on,  or  we  may  keep  it  back,  but  we  cannot  make 
it  to  be ;  that  only  can  God  do.  Growth  is  God's 
"onward."  Surely  you  hear  it  in  yourself  as  you 
think  how  you  have  changed,  and  how  you  are 
changing. 

And  then,  once  more,  God  says  to  you  "On- 
ward" by  unfolding  within  you  the  powers  of 
thought.  You  have  all  seen,  I  doubt  not,  the  way 
ferns  look  when  they  begin  growing  in  the  spring- 
time. You  remember  they  do  not  look  like  fern 
leaves  at  the  beginning.  They  are  little  velvety 
coils  standing  in  little  groups  an  inch  or  two 
above  the  ground;  and  then  as  the  sun  pours 
upon  them,  and  the  warm  air  plays  over  them, 
they  begin  to  uncoil  themselves,  and  as  they  un- 
coil they  show  you  how  all  the  grace  and  beauty 
of  the  fern  leaf  were  packed  away  in  the  velvety 
coil,  only  waiting  for  the  right  time  to  spread  out 
into  perfection.  And  a  child's  mind  seems  to  me 
to  unfold  its  thought  powers  just  as  the  fern  un- 
coils. All  the  greatest  thinking  you  will  ever  do  is 
really  packed  and  hidden  away  in  your  mind  as 
a  child,  and  that  is  the  reason  why  I  honor  a 
[  280  ] 


child's  mind  and  never  treat  children  as  if  they 
were  beings  that  cannot  think.  I  think  a  child's 
mind  is  just  as  great  a  thing  as  a  wise  philoso- 
pher's mind,  only  the  philosopher's  mind  is  like 
the  fern  leaf  fully  spread  out,  and  the  child's 
mind  is  the  fern  leaf  just  beginning  to  uncoil  in 
the  velvety  frond.  And  He  who  makes  the  fern 
frond  uncoil  beneath  His  sun  and  wind,  makes 
the  child's  thought-power  unfold,  so  that  you 
can  think  wider  and  greater  thoughts. 

But  all  that  I  have  just  said  is  about  God's 
"Onward,"  about  the  ways  He  is  leading  you 
along  in  this  journey  through  the  world.  The 
going  on  of  time,  the  growth  of  your  bodies,  the 
unfolding  of  your  minds  are  His  work.  His  sign 
to  you  that  life  is  a  journey.  Let  us  talk  a  mo- 
ment, as  we  draw  near  the  end  of  this  sermon, 
about  the  way  you  can  answer  God's  "onward" 
and  follow  where  He  leads.  The  cloud  moved  in 
front  of  the  Israelites,  and  they  followed  as  the 
cloud  moved.  So  I  want  you  to  follow  all  God's 
signs  by  which  He  shows  you  so  plainly  that  life 
must  move  onward.  I  want  you  to  have  an  "on- 
ward" sounding  in  your  own  hearts  and  filling 
your  daily  life,  which  shall  be  an  earnest,  joyous, 
brave  answer  to  God's  "onward."  I  want  you  to 
[  281  ] 


have  a  purpose,  strong,  simple,  good,  that  this 
life  which  God  has  given  you,  and  which  He  is 
constantly  telling  you  is  a  life  that  must  move  on- 
ward, shall  move  onward,  even  from  childhood, 
in  the  best  and  noblest  way  I  want  you,  in  other 
words,  not  simply  to  live  and  grow;  but  to  live 
with  a  purpose  and  to  grow  each  day  nearer  to 
the  fulfillment  of  that  purpose.  But  you  say: 
"  How  can  I  do  that  when  I  do  not  yet  know  what 
I  shall  be  and  do  when  I  am  a  man  or  a  woman  ? 
How  can  I  have  a  purpose  when  the  future  is  so 
uncertain?"  And  a  very  wise  question  that  is. 
Here  is  a  boy,  for  example,  eight,  ten,  twelve 
years  old.  He  does  not  know,  yet,  what  he  will  be 
as  a  man  —  a  doctor,  a  minister,  a  merchant,  an 
artist,  a  lawyer.  He  might  be  any  one  of  these,  or 
something  else.  How  can  he  have  a  purpose  now  ? 
How  can  a  little  girl  of  ten  or  twelve  have  a  pur- 
pose now  ?  I  will  answer  you.  God  has  given  you 
your  life  now ;  you  have  it,  young  though  you  are ; 
it  is  yours  to  make  it  strong  and  beautiful,  or  to 
let  it  be  spoiled  and  wasted.  You  do  not  know, 
it  is  true,  what  you  may  be  called  to  do  with  your 
life  as  man  or  woman  in  the  years  far  off ;  but  this 
you  do  know:  that  you  may  do  with  your  life 
to-day  the  best  and  the  noblest  things  in  to-day. 
[  282  ] 


€)nt»)at:D 

That  can  be  your  purpose.  That  can  be  your 
answer  to  God's  **  Onward."  You  can  look  upon 
your  life  to-day  as  a  precious  gift,  with  some 
great  meaning  in  it.  You  can  treat  that  gift  sa- 
credly. You  can  refuse  to  do  anything  that  would 
soil  its  purity  or  damage  its  strength.  You  can  do 
all  your  work  faithfully ;  you  can  try  to  put  always 
better  work  into  to-day  than  you  put  into  yester- 
day. In  every  study  you  can  say  to  yourself  *'  On- 
ward." You  can  treat  your  mind  with  reverence, 
using  it  in  such  a  way  as  will  help  all  its  powers  to 
unfold.  Then,  when  manhood  and  womanhood 
come,  having  trained  yourself  to  do  and  love  the 
best,  you  will  do  and  love  the  best  always,  and 
having  been  faithful  in  each  day's  living,  you  will 
be  ready  and  wanted  for  some  great  trust. 

And  one  thing  above  all  else.  Let  me  say  it  to 
you  quietly  at  the  very  end.  This  is  the  Sunday 
before  Easter.  This  is  the  day  when,  years  ago, 
Christ  rode  into  Jerusalem  with  that  grand  pur- 
pose to  die  for  others,  to  die  for  you.  To-day  He 
lives,  and  to-day  He  looks  to  you,  to  see  what 
your  purpose  is  toward  Him.  Has  your  life  to-day 
a  purpose,  a  purpose  born  in  it  by  the  Holy 
Spirit,  to  follow  Christ  ?  to  go  onward  after  that 
great  leader  who  loved  you  and  gave  Himself  for 
[  283  ] 


you  ?  Are  you  following  in  His  train,  child  though 
you  are,  trying  to  do  the  will  of  God?  Are  you 
seeking  to  please  Jesus  day  by  day  ?  Oh !  let  this 
purpose  be  made  strong  within  you  to-day  —  fol- 
low Him  — follow  Him.  You  cannot  go  astray  if 
you  follow  Him.  You  cannot  walk  in  darkness  if 
you  follow  Him.  You  cannot  lead  a  useless  life  if 
you  follow  Him.  To-day  He  calls  you.  Oh!  an- 
swer Him,  "Master,  I  follow."  Let  Him  lead 
you  —  onward  —  onward  —  onward  forever. 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U    .   S    .   A 


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Date  Due 

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